#they are all just like. combinations. bits and pieces of real names.

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

i very much subscribe to the idea that outside of the ones where its pretty much confirmed they are a single personality (think szayel and yylfordt in like. the light novels), most of the arrancar are pretty much an amalgamation of everything theyve eaten and become an individual force/personality over time. HOWEVER i do enjoy the idea of grimmjow being some like. british punk from the 70s-80s. and im pretty sure thats billy idol's fault lol

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They��ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Breakfast VII

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your Olympic debut

Ellie can still remember her first Olympics.

She'd been sixteen too in Rio.

But her Olympics had been for football.

Yours is for gymnastics.

Daan had told you that it's okay not to reach the finals but, against the odds, the uneven bars had called your name.

Neither of your mothers pretend to know much about gymnastics apart from it being incredibly difficult and that it had taken over your life for years.

You hadn't quite cared when you missed school or a friend's birthday parties or opportunities to go on holiday.

Gymnastics was your life and when you had made the leap to senior gymnastics, you'd held your own fairly well and, now, you were here.

At the Olympics.

In an arena full of gymnastic enthusiasts watching you closely.

Ellie grabs at Daan's hand, sucking in a harsh breath as your name is announced.

You seem content though, happy even as you approach.

"It's going to be okay," Daan says, though it sounds like she's more trying to convince Ellie than herself," She's going to do amazing. This is just for the experience. There's no pressure on her."

It's a nice lie to tell but you're the only Dutch athlete to qualify for a gymnastics final.

Ellie's sure the whole country has tuned in to watch you compete.

There's no pressure from her and Daan.

There's pressure from the country.

You adjust your hand straps, chalking up your hands before approaching the bars.

Ellie doesn't get gymnastics but she does know that uneven bars are your favourite. She's not even sure if you know why but it is.

You've always loved them and multiple times, she's picked you up from practice while you're doing another routine.

She's admired you multiple times on the bar, star-struck by the confidence you have to just fling yourself off of them. She's even more star-struck when you land a series of complicated flips.

There's something impossible about the things you do and the ease at which you do them.

But those things are just in the gym, just at practice and Ellie knows practice doesn't always translate into the real thing but, as you grab onto the higher bar, Ellie can't see any terror in you.

The scariest part of your gymnastics, Daan thinks, is the injuries. She has been your mother for sixteen perfect years and every time you do a flip or a spin or some kind of complicated combination, she can't help but imagine all the ways it's gone wrong.

Your biggest injury was a dislocated shoulder when you were thirteen but you'd never had anything else but Daan had been to enough gymnastics meets to know that breaking legs and torn muscles aren't out of the question.

You spin around the high bar, releasing onto the lower one and Daan squeezes Ellie's hand.

Her eyes slam shut suddenly.

Ellie's always been the one that can't look away from you, awestruck by your abilities but all Daan can see when she looks at you is the slip you had when you were little, down the stairs and cracking your head open on the bannister.

It's not the same but it's all she can ever think about.

So, whenever you're on the bars, Daan has to shut her eyes, if only to give herself some peace of mind.

"Come on," She hears Ellie mutter next to her," Come on. You've got this. Come on."

Ellie's always been a talker at your competitions, a steady stream of commentary coming from her mouth that she had picked up bits and pieces of from tv commentators that actually know what they're talking about.

"Nearly done," Ellie says," And...And...She stuck it! She stuck the landing!"

Daan's eyes open up just as you walk off to your seat.

She hadn't watched a moment of your performance but from the roar of the crowd and the wild look on your coach's face, she knows it's good.

Good enough for a medal perhaps.

A bronze or silver would be perfect for your debut.

The waiting is tense, for everyone in the arena and Daan wonders what exactly she has missed with her eyes closed.

Everyone is waiting.

Barely anyone is breathing and you took a long drink from your bottle, eyes up on the screen.

A 14.540 would get you a bronze. A 14.700 would get you silver and Daan grips Ellie's hand more firmly than before.

The person in first sits pretty at the top with a score of 15.420 and Daan hopes you can weasel your way onto the podium.

The stadium erupts but all Daan can look at is you.

Your fists are pumped up into the air as your coach jumps around and hugs you.

"Fuck," Ellie says in awe," Oh my god."

A 15.500 puts you at the top and with only the lowest qualifier left, it's already in the bag.

It's confirmed the moment the last competitor slips from the bar and messes up her landing.

"It looks good on you," Ellie says after everything is all over.

"It's gold," You say," Gold looks good on everyone."

"It looks the best on you." Daan feels tears prick in her eyes and her bottom lip trembles. "I'm so proud of you. God, so proud!"

You tug her into a hug, holding her so close as you finally sob into her shoulder.

"I tried so hard, Mamma," You say," I just want to make you happy."

"You make me so happy," Daan says, cradling your face," All the time. You make me so happy and so proud."

"We'd have been proud of you even if you came last," Ellie says, joining the hug.

A little laugh escapes you. "But the gold helps, right?"

Ellie winks. "Gold always helps."

[bubsmiraculousau]

These are my OT5 brainstorm pages. Elaborations on how I got to these below! I reference concept pages so if you see any pictures you don't recognize that's why. <3

First up is Cat Noir who I think is already perfect lmao. For my version though I wanted to lean closer to his PV design because I love it, like his larger triangle nose (you can't really see it at the angle in my drawing but it's there I swear!), the bigger bell, the more elaborate belt, etc.... so basically everything ... just in my style instead.

With my designs I think that whenever someone transforms into their miraculous persona it's based on what they think a hero looks like or what they think is cool. I think Adrien reads a lot of comic books and is a fan of characters like Batman (relatable for him LOL), Catwoman, and Nightwing, so his suit reflects that kind of vibe.

Extra: I decided that Ladybug and Cat Noir's masks go all the way up their foreheads because it looks nicer in my 2D style with their bangs haha.

Next up is the one and only Ladybug! Unpopular opinion but I actually like the all red suit! My hypothetical series would be a webcomic, and I feel like in action scenes the red differentiates her from Cat Noir esp at a distance, and more red style keeps their color ratios even.

I like the ladybug designs with a bunch of black sections they're very cute! Just not for my au. (I think it's just me but I find drawing the ladybug designs with inverted red dots to feel sacrilegious in a way,,, just my neurodivergent brain lol)

And I am a long ribbons truther, I love them and they can be very expressive. Also I knew I wanted Marinette to have a more vertical circular eye shape because her shape vibe is definitely a circle (Adrien's is triangle) and it reminded me of the eyes for the main girl in princess jellyfish (I've never seen it, love the style tho)

Her hair is a more bright blue to contrast her hair against her suit, and make her look more cartoonish. I imagine her idea of a superhero comes from kids shows and some magical girl anime. So her hair has a plastic shiny texture to it because when she thinks 'superhero' she thinks of kids toys. Also I just like color! The blue kinda gives comic spiderman vibes imo (the version with the light blue instead of the navy)

Queen Bee definitely changed the most throughout the design process. I really like her in-show design so I just tweaked it to be more my vibe. Adding a crown because she's a Queen.

Something that I've noticed is that Alya and Chloe actually share a lot of traits (There's even some old concept notes where I believe Alya and Chloe either switch names or roles at some point?? The miraculous concept info rabbit hole is real y'all) and I think this comes through in their final designs.

Like they both share a middle part, which bothers me for some reason, so I decided to give Chloe a little Ariana Grande side part into a ponytail.

I wanted each character to have a cool little piece on their costume, so I tried these little hip things to make her more commanding and girlboss, but currently her weapon is similar to ladybug's (but more like one of those hair ties w the little disco balls on them) and it would sit on her hip and would clash w her hip thingies, so I just decided to make her weapon the hip things instead, combining the two.

Something else that bothered me a lot was that Rena was the only one with white on her costume. Everyone has black but she's the only one with white... my brain says that this cannot be. So I tried to give Bee some fun white fuzzy bits but the texture just was too different...

And then I had the mega-brain idea to make her hair white to tie in the white from Rena. Her and Cat Noir both having blonde hair irked me as well LOL so this hit two birds with one stone. I wanted her hair to be sharper and more aggressively drill shaped because of her abrasive personality haha.

After that, is Carapace. I had an idea for him from the start because I felt like his in-show design just doesn't match his personality... I couldn't make his outfit all loose because I wanted to stick generally to the miraculous suit formula, but I feel like 'skin tight suit' just isn't his vibe. So he has a kind of hammer pants situation.

I think they capture Carapace's b-boy ninja turtle vibe while still looking like a miraculous outfit. Though I decided later that I wanted the pants to be a lighter color for contrast and the visor to be white (to tie in that Rena Rouge white).

Lastly is Miss Rena! Something that bothered me (back on the similarities to Chloe) was that they both have ponytails (yes I know I'm crazy). Even though they have very different textures I just wanted each of them to be distinct from each other. So I put her hair down and just dramatized her regular hairstyle.

Also her and Queen Bee both have black gloves to their upper arms, which, you guessed it, bothered me. So I shortened Rena's to just reach her elbow.

I wanted her to look like a magic-man, her illusion powers evoke a showmanship energy to me. I imagine her and Cat Noir are quite the dramatic theater kid-esque duo.

So, for drama I tried some flowy arm bits, which I think ended up just looking a little strange, so I'll pocket that idea for something else. Then, I tried to add her coattail from the show, but it ended up looking a little frumpy, not the drama I wanted.

I ended up making her coat more triangular in the front, to give off the vibe of a magician's vest, and changed it to solider red/orange double coattails, which I think makes her more magic-man-ish. And I think the white ends made it too busy.

So those are my hero designs! I'm still working out Hawkmoth and Mayura, esp Hawkmoth because I am not good at drawing masculine older men...

If y'all want LESS of the artistic process let a girl know lol! I know some ppl like it but this is very long,,, all my drawings will not have text this long! thx for reading if you did tho xx

[wholoveseggs]

hi! I see you have a bunch of requests so I’m sorry to request but do you think you could write an Elijah angst with fluff ? Like y/n is upset because she thinks that elijah likes Hayley but he’s actually in love with her and has been for centuries but has always been too scared to tell her.

Always

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

Upon your unexpected appearance at the compound, centuries after being presumed dead, Elijah has to grapple with feelings he long buried and the consequences that come with it.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon(s) & @vervain3 ♡♡ - I combined all three ideas and made a jealousy triangle {square? circle? idk}~

3k words - Warnings: a little smutty right at the end, drama, angst, jealousy... vaguely refer to events from season 2 & 3... Klaus interfering & loving all the drama (Regina George energy)

It was a rare thing for Elijah Mikaelson to fall in love, but when he did, it was forever. In his one thousand years of living he could count on one hand the number of times his heart had truly belonged to someone else and he could recall, with exact detail, everything about them.

There was Tatia, the first woman he ever fell for, and then there was Katerina, or Katherine, who was a thorn in his side and a constant source of regret.Then Celeste came into the picture, a beautiful and powerful witch, her loss and betrayal still a bitter taste in his mouth.

And then there was you, the brightest light in his dark life. Your face still burned brightly in his memories and your name still danced on his tongue like the sweetest melody. You did things to him that no one else could, dissolving his burdens with just a smile.

You had captured his heart with just one look and he had been yours, mind, body, and soul. He was so in love with you, it hurt.

So when you died, he was shattered, torn apart and left to deal with the pain alone. He would see your face everywhere, haunting him and reminding him of his failure to protect the one he loved. To never be able to tell you how he felt was the most painful thing of all.

Centuries had passed since he lost you, his grief now a dull ache in his heart, but nothing had ever truly made the pain go away.

Hayley's presence in his life mended the broken pieces somewhat, but they were still damaged. His feelings for the hybrid would never be enough to erase the ghost of his love for you.

He accepted being content with what he had, knowing he didn't deserve anything more. That he was lucky to have met his soul mate, even if you were never truly his. To know that true love was real, if not fleeting.

So when he saw you, sitting on the sofa in the courtyard, laughing and chatting with Klaus, his heart stopped. He wondered if he was imagining you again, if his mind was playing a cruel trick on him.

But you turned, your gaze meeting his and the world stopped. He felt his knees grow weak, and his heart race.

You were real, you were here, you were alive.

And you looked just as beautiful as the day he last saw you.

But there was a bit of a problem, he was with Hayley now. You were back and he didn't know how to feel about that.

"Elijah, how long has it been? You look well." You greet him with a smile, pulling him in for a hug.

Elijah hesitated before wrapping his arms around you, inhaling the scent that he had thought he'd never experience again. He couldn't help but hold you a little tighter, afraid that if he let you go, you'd disappear.

"Y/N," he whispers softly.

You pull back, noticing the way his eyes seem to burn brighter, full of emotions you couldn't read.

"How are you? I haven't seen you since..." you trail off.

"Since you died," he finishes, his eyes looking at you curiously.

"Since you left me behind," you corrected him.

Elijah frowned, not understanding what you were talking about. The night Mikael returned, you were killed and your body burnt, at least, that's what Klaus had told him.

"Klaus said you were killed, we didn't have time to retrieve your body."

You shake your head. "That wasn't me, he was mistaken."

"So where were you?" he asked, still unable to believe you were really here.

"Here and there," you said with a smile, none of that mattered now.

You always had a soft spot for Elijah, when you first met him and his family, you found him to be so stoic and melancholic. You delighted in making him laugh, his smile lighting up his whole face and giving him the air of youth and carefreeness that you knew he had buried deep within him.

Nothing ever happened between you, he tended to fall for more serious types. But you never stopped loving him, he was always going to be the one you couldn't forget.

"You're as bad as Niklaus," Elijah said, chuckling lightly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you grinned.

You were interrupted by a beautiful brunette with stunning hazel eyes, she walked up and placed her hand on Elijah's shoulder, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Y/N, this is Hayley," Elijah introduced, his hand going to rest on her back.

Of course, you thought. She was exactly his type, beautiful and fierce.

You gave her a small smile, shaking her hand.

"How do you know Elijah?" she asked, curious.

"We met a very long time ago, in another place," you answered, giving Elijah a sidelong glance. "In another life."

Hayley looked between the two of you, sensing there was more to your relationship than you were letting on. She wasn't going to let you anywhere near what was hers.

"What brings you here? To New Orleans, I mean?"

"I heard the original family has settled here and I wanted to catch up with old friends," you replied. "But mostly, I'm just passing through,"

Hayley frowned, "old friends," she repeated, her hand tightening around Elijah's shoulder.

She had only just met you, but already, she knew she didn't like you. You seemed to have a permanent smirk on your face that reminded her of Klaus, and that made her distrust you instantly. And the way Elijah was looking at you made her feel uneasy, she had never seen him look so...happy.

"Oh," Elijah's expression faltered, his disappointment barely noticeable. "You're leaving?"

"Well, I don't want to overstay my welcome," you joked, your eyes flickering to Hayley's.

"How about you join us tonight for dinner," Klaus said, walking up and joining the group, he always knew exactly how to make an awkward situation worse. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

You gave him a small smile. "Sure,"

When you arrived for dinner, you were surprised by the amount of people Klaus had invited. It was a bit of a relief, it would mean that you didn't have to be alone with Elijah and Hayley.

Klaus stood at the head of the table, making introductions, there were a number of vampires and werewolves present, including a werewolf alpha named Jackson and a handsome vampire named Marcel.

You greeted them all politely, before taking a seat next to Marcel.

"Y/N, this is my dear friend Marcellus," Klaus greeted, "you two have a remarkable amount in common."

Marcel smiles, "hello, beautiful."

"Hi," you smiled back, your eyes lingering on his, he had a killer smile and a charm to him that was difficult to resist.

You were glad to have someone to talk to, you could tell Marcel had a great sense of humor and you enjoyed his company. You also found yourself attracted to him, he was definitely your type.

"So, how do you know the Mikaelsons?" Marcel asked, a little confused. "I didn't think they had any friends outside their family,"

"Klaus turned me centuries ago, when they were hiding out in my town." You explain, taking a sip of your wine. "They needed allies, so he made some of us into vampires."

"Ahh, been there, done that." Marcel replied with a smile, leaning in closer, his hand brushing against yours.

Elijah watched from the other end of the table, his eyes flickering between the pair, his stomach knotting with every touch and look exchanged between you.

You didn't miss his glances, or his frowns, and you wondered what his problem was. He had his gorgeous girlfriend by his side, why was he looking at you this way?

Klaus delighted in the growing jealousy he could see bubbling up inside Elijah. He knew his brother had always loved you, but never made a move. And now, he was paying for it.

Klaus watched as you flirted with Marcel, enjoying the sight of Elijah growing increasingly frustrated.

"They seem cozy, how cute," he mused, his eyes gleaming.

"Yes, it appears that way," Elijah replied, his jaw clenching.

Hayley smiled at you and Marcel, "they’d make a good couple,"

"Would they?" Elijah asked, a hint of irritation in his tone.

Hayley didn't notice, she was too busy watching the way your eyes lingered on each other's and the way Marcel leaned in close and whispered in your ear, making you laugh.

Elijah didn't miss the spark in your eyes as you spoke with Marcel, the way your face lit up and the way his fingers traced patterns on your skin.

He wanted to rip his heart out.

He felt himself growing angrier by the minute, his hands clenched and his jaw tight. He could barely keep up with the conversation, his attention focused on you, his jealousy eating away at him.

There you were, so close, your laughter filling the air, the sound he had been longing to hear for so long. And he was stuck sitting across from you, watching you get closer to another man.

"Jackson, tell me about this ritual you mentioned earlier," Klaus said, interrupting Elijah's thoughts.

"Well," Jackson began, looking between Hayley and Elijah awkwardly. "It could possibly give the pack hybrid-like abilities,"

Hayley smiled, "that's exactly what we need Klaus, an army to protect our child."

"What would this ritual involve?" Elijah asked, trying to distract himself from the sound of your laughter.

"A marriage," Jackson answered. "Between myself and Hayley,"

"A marriage?" Hayley asked, confused. "I thought this was just a ritual?"

Jackson shook his head, "in order for it to work, we need to marry,"

Hayley frowned, looking between Jackson and Elijah. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea of marrying anyone but Elijah, but she had no choice, she would do anything for her daughter.

"It would give us the power and numbers we need," Klaus agreed. "We could protect Hope from anyone who wished her harm."

Elijah felt strangely relieved, despite knowing how selfish it was. He thought he loved Hayley, that her marrying another would bother him, but he was more bothered by the way Marcel was touching you, he realized that his feelings for Hayley weren't enough.

He still loved you, and he always would.

"I guess that's it then," Hayley sighed, glancing over at Elijah, wondering what was going through his mind.

"We can discuss it further tomorrow, but I'm sure it's something that would benefit us all," Elijah said, his voice steady.

Hayley nodded, her heart breaking at his indifference. She didn't understand, she had hoped he would argue against it, at least a little bit, but it appeared she was mistaken.

She glanced over at you, seeing the way you kept looking at Elijah. She realized that your presence had shifted something in her relationship, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger towards you.

After dinner, everyone had a drink or two and mingled. Elijah and Hayley found a private corner to chat about her wedding, their conversation awkward and strained, filled with hidden meanings.

"Are you alright?" Elijah asked, noticing the pain in her eyes.

"Yeah, fine." Hayley nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "I just thought you would... I dunno... Protest the wedding more."

Elijah hesitated, "we need to do whatever we can to bring home Hope." He spoke carefully, "you know that I... care for you."

Hayley looked away, trying to hide the hurt on her face. He 'cared for' her, but it wasn't enough.

"You care for me," she repeated, her voice lacking the inflection of surprise. "But you don't love me, do you?"

She looked up at him, their eyes locking. He looked at her sadly, the regret in his eyes telling her all she needed to know.

"You'll always have a place in my heart, Hayley," he said. "It's just-"

"She's back," she finished, nodding sadly. "You've always loved her."

Elijah didn't respond, instead he simply stared at her, their eyes full of unspoken words, unshed tears and the promise of a life together that would never be.

Hayley took a breath, blinking back her tears.

"I should probably go and join the others," she said, turning to walk away. "I'll… see you around,”

Elijah released a breath, running his hand through his hair. He stood there, debating whether he should go over and talk to you.

Hayley could tell from the way you'd been looking at him that your feelings for him were the same. She was hurt, and a little drunk, and a more than a bit angry.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw Marcel whisper something in your ear, his hand resting on your shoulder. You seemed to have every man here wrapped around your finger instantly, even Elijah.

Hayley walked up to you, her eyes flashing. "It's incredible how you just return out of the blue and have every man here panting at your heels."

You raised an eyebrow, not expecting the hostility.

"I'm sorry, have I offended you in some way?" You asked, giving her a confused look.

"No, you're just a slut who can't seem to keep her hands off the men around here." Hayley snapped.

You looked at her in surprise, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Marcel and I were only flirting," you replied.

Hayley glared at you, her fists clenching. You could see the rage burning in her eyes, and you were tempted to push her further, just to see how far you could take it. But before you could, Jackson was by her side, a worried look on his face.

"Come on Hayley, let's get some air," he said, pulling her away from you.

Marcel watched as they left, his arm draped around your shoulders.

"What was that about?" He asked, glancing down at you.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you shrugged, your gaze drifting over to Elijah.

He was looking at you as well, his eyes wide and searching, as if he couldn't believe you were really there.

"I'm sorry Marcel, I think I'm going to turn in early," you said, smiling apologetically. "It's been a long day."

Marcel nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Call me sometime, if you're interested," he said with a grin, winking playfully.

"Sure, thanks." You nodded, returning his smile.

You made your way over to Klaus, thanking him for the dinner, and bidding him a goodnight. You then approached Elijah, a small smile on your face, your heart pounding.

"It's wonderful to see you, after all these years," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

"You too, Elijah." You said, giving him a genuine smile.

"I want to show you something, before you go." He said, extending his hand out to you.

You hesitated, glancing down at his hand, a part of you afraid to get your hopes up, to believe that he saw you as more than a friend. But when your eyes met his, you could see something in his gaze, and it gave you the confidence you needed to take his hand.

"Lead the way,"

Elijah gave you a small smile, leading you to his study. He walked over to his desk, searching around until he pulled out a wooden box.

He placed it on the desk, opening the lid. Inside was a pendant necklace, a gold chain with a small emerald medallion hanging from it, with your initials engraved.

You hadn't seen it in centuries, not since the night you parted, and the sight of it brought a flood of emotions crashing down.

"You kept it," you whispered, your eyes stinging with tears.

"Of course," Elijah replied, his voice quiet, a smile playing on his lips. "It was yours, it belongs with you."

Your fingers gently grazed the pendant, the cool metal a reminder of your human life. It was given to you by your mother, the only thing you had left of her. You had treasured it, and when it broke, Elijah had offered to get it fixed for you.

But when Mikael arrived and you were separated, you thought it was forever lost.

"You got it fixed," you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

"Yes, it was important to you." Elijah replied, his voice soft, a smile on his face.

"After all these years, after everything, why did you keep it?" You asked, confused.

"It was all I had left of you," he replied, his voice barely audible.

You swallowed, unable to speak, your throat tight and your chest aching. You'd never imagined he'd held onto such a keepsake, a reminder of you he held onto for centuries after he believed you to be dead.

Elijah gently picked up the necklace, placing it around your neck, his hands lingering.

"I'm happy to return this to you," he whispered. "It's where it belongs."

Your hand went up to the pendant, tears streaming down your cheeks. You turned to face him and his hand cupped your cheek, wiping away the tears. You leaned into his touch, his skin warm against yours.

He stared into your eyes, his expression filled with emotion, his heart beating erratically.

"I want you to know that I..." his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. "That I have never forgotten you."

"I never forgot you either," you whispered, your gaze dropping to his lips, your own parting.

He leaned in slowly, closing the gap between you. His lips were soft, gentle, as they pressed against yours, you both sighed, melting into each other. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close.

He moved you back until you hit the desk, his lips moving down your neck, nipping and kissing, causing you to moan. Your hands grasped at his clothes, tugging him closer, desperate for him.

Elijah lifted you onto the desk, pushing his body between your legs, his hardness pressed against you. His mouth was on yours again, his hands roaming your body, exploring every inch.

"Wait, wait," you panted, breaking the kiss. "You are with Hayley,"

Elijah paused, his eyes locked with yours, his chest heaving. "Not anymore."

You stared at him, confusion and desire muddling your thoughts.

"What?" You managed, still struggling to catch your breath.

"We broke up, tonight," he explained, his voice husky, his hands caressing your thighs.

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind, but his closeness and his hands on your body were making it impossible to think. He kissed you again, his lips hungry, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you.

You moaned, arching into him, your hands roaming his body, pulling him closer. His hands tugged at your dress, hiking it up your thighs, moving your panties to the side.

"I want you," he muttered, his eyes dark, filled with lust.

You whispered his name as his fingers slipped inside you, his thumb rubbing your clit. His mouth was on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, nibbling softly. You gasped, your hands grasping at his belt, trying desperately to undo it.

He pushed his pants and underwear down, his cock springing free. He positioned himself between your legs, easing into you slowly. Your eyes locked, both of you filled with an intense, desperate need for the other.

Elijah groaned, gripping the desk, his knuckles turning white, as he began thrusting into you, slow and deep. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your moans filling the room.

His movements became faster, more frantic, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you. You felt yourself getting closer, your muscles tightening, your breathing becoming shallow.

His lips crashed against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, holding them open. The desperate way he was fucking you was a testament to the feelings he held for you, and it only fueled your desire for him.

You moaned into his mouth as you came, your orgasm hitting you hard, making your body tremble, your muscles spasming.

Elijah buried his face in your neck, sinking his fangs into you as he let go, his body shuddering. You held him, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax.

"I've always loved you," he whispered.

"I love you, too." You replied, kissing his temple.

He kissed you again, his hands cradling your face. He smiled at you, his eyes filled with warmth, and a deep love that was reserved only for you.

It felt like coming home.

♡♡ Hayley is jealous of you -> you are jealous of Hayley -> Elijah is jealous of Marcel... & Marcel is too cool to care. ♡♡ ~What kind of jealously geometry is this??? I'm a writer not a mathematician lol~

[lowkeychenle]

Cruel Summer [ZCL] (M)

Description: He wants you. Everything to do with you--your heart, your body, all while keeping your friendship. What's a man to do during a 30-day hook up to get you to stay? (This fic is Chenle's POV!)

A/N: this is inspired by 'Cruel Summer' by Taylor Swift, please do listen to this song because it is SO AMAZING.

Genre: Fluff/Smut/Angst (very minimal angst, like u rlly have to squint)

Content Warnings: LOTS OF FLUFF AND SMUT. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK OKAY. Drinking, alcohol, intoxication, some instances of friends being shitty/pushy Smut warnings: this has so much smut oh my god. anyway, use of pet names 'sunshine,' 'baby,' 'pretty,' and combinations of them, rough, unprotected sex, protected sex, choking, the smut rlly progressively gets softer but kinkier? a wee bit of dacrophyilia, one oral scene (m receiving), and i think that's it...i'm so sorry if I missed one this thing is so fucking long

Word Count: 20,050 (seriously wtf did I DO?!)

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (feat. Mark, Haechan, Jaemin, Jeno, and two female OCs, Chaeyoung & Heewon)

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

Day 1 | June 1st

Chenle, for his entire life, had always said summer was his favorite season. As time went on and he got older, that sentiment got less and less real to him. Now approaching his 23rd year of life, he’d been around long enough to know things younger Chenle never would’ve dreamed of.

Every single summer since high school graduation, Chenle has invited his friends to his family’s vacation house on the beach—including you, his best friend since middle school. You’d seen him through all his awkward phases, and the best part of his month-long summer excursion was seeing you despite how busy the two of you were throughout the year.

For thirty days, everything was normal. You were around, and he relished in your company.

For thirty days, he was able to forget everything except for you and a handful of other friends.

Not that he could ever not have you at the forefront of his mind. Despite the busy schedules you both endured, you somehow ended up crashing at his house often, or vice versa. He often occupied the other side of your bed and, for a long time, thought it was completely normal despite the very odd reactions some people had when he explained he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Nothing had ever happened. At least, not literally. He’d thought about making a move and kissing you, but he decided it wasn’t worth losing your friendship. Throughout your years together, he’d seen you get in relationships, get your heart broken, and break hearts. You’re comfortable being at your lowest with him, and he builds you back up piece by piece without complaint.

“Chenle,” you call from outside, jogging up to the front door. “Is everything in the car? Jaemin and Jeno are almost here.”

He raises his eyebrows as he glances around his house, wondering if he’s forgetting anything. And without meaning to, he scans over you as if he hasn’t been around you all day. Your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat from the overwhelming heat outside, and your shorts climb up your thighs with every passing second, but he swears he doesn’t notice.

“I think so. If we’re missing anything, we can just run into town,” he suggests, tagging his fingers on his sides to stop himself from reaching out to you.

Chenle had a little secret—one he hated keeping from you, but had to nonetheless—and it was simply that he was in love with you. It took him years to come to terms with it. After all this time, he accepted it. If he’s around you, the way he acts doesn’t have to change in the slightest. He’s always treated you as more than a best friend, as you’ve done to him, so there’s no reason for him to ruin that…right?

“You good?” You tilt your head at him. “We’re wasting time.”

“We have a whole month,” Chenle retorts.

“And you’re taking away from our first day.” Your eyes narrow, but before he responds, you turn your back on him and rush out the door, yelling at who he assumes is Jaemin finally arriving.

The four of you are driving together, while Mark, Hyuck, Heewon, and Chaeyoung were taking Mark’s car. They’d probably be a bit late, but Chenle didn’t mind.

His favorite thing was road trips—especially if you were involved. Even when Jaemin and Jeno slept in the backseat, you and Chenle had the radio up, the windows down, and you were singing at the top of your lungs. Your best look is when you’re this happy, yelling lyrics without a care in the world. He shouldn’t, but he steals glances at you whenever he can. You sing, looking at him and grabbing his arm and shaking him depending on what songs were on. Giggles pour out of your mouth when he gives you an incredulous look.

The song you replayed the most these days was Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift, and he would never get tired of it. Every time the chorus came on, you swept him up in your performance, and he almost laughed at the way he related to the lyrics.

And I screamed for whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

He wanted more, but he liked you like this. Hands flying into the air as you scream along to the music. Sooner or later, he ends up joining you. Whenever you’re involved, it’s not weird to find Chenle a single step behind you.

Chenle’s family had a large house on the beach. It was split down the middle, and one of his parents’ conditions was that the boys would stay on one side and the girls on the other. They didn’t have a way to prove any different, but everyone respected their rules.

Jaemin and Jeno typically played whatever game console was in the living room while Chenle got to spend a little bit of alone time with you before the rest of the hyper ones got in.

He stands across the kitchen, watching as you unload all of the snacks you brought onto the counter. After a long drive, the sun is setting on the horizon, and the pretty colors reflecting off your skin have him beyond distracted. It wouldn’t be weird for him to hug you. He’s been clingy with you since…well, since he first met you.

“You sure you don’t want any help?” he asks.

“It’s just little things.” You shrug, waving him off. “That drive was…exhausting.”

He laughs, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself.

“What?” You continue taking boxes out of the bags.

“The drive always knocks you out, but you do the same thing every time anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna sit with Jaem and Jeno. Come out when you’re done?”

You grin at him. “I’ll only be a few more minutes. Go ahead.”

He leaves you in the kitchen, the nightfall creeping into the house and making his eyes heavy. His bed calls to him from upstairs, but he wants to wait for you. And he doesn’t have a choice but to wait for Mark and the rest of the gang, because they’ll have to have a way inside.

When you join him, you’re equally as tired as him. You slump next to him on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder. With your warmth pressed against him, he smiles and wraps his arm around you. Jaemin and Jeno are battling away, sleep not touching them any time soon after the nap they had in the car.

“You okay?” he whispers, careful not to alert the other two.

Nodding, you curl into him further, sighing into his chest. He hugs you, and somehow, you end up curled into a ball on his lap, head buried in his neck. Your breath tickles his skin, but he doesn’t dare disturb you.

He cradles the back of your head, rubbing his thumb on your scalp. When your breathing steadies, he relaxes. You’re asleep, and if he knows himself at all, he’ll be following you in no time. Any time you’re tired after a long day, you curl into him like this, and he’s come to relish in these moments.

His eyes flutter shut, his own exhaustion peeking through. Absent-mindedly, he presses his lips to the top of your head.

“Ew,” Jaemin groans, giving Chenle a disgusted look. “They make rooms for whatever’s going on there.”

Chenle glares at him once, and he purses his lips and turns his attention back to the game.

“Seriously, if you want to go to bed, we’ll wait for the others,” Jeno offers. “We are capable of opening a door.”

Chenle contemplates it for a moment. He knows he should be the one to greet everyone, but the gentle snores escaping you makes him want to cuddle you properly. It wouldn’t be the first time one of you “snuck in” to the other side of the house and stayed with one another. At the end of the day, he couldn’t get enough of you. Your skin is soft beneath his fingertips, and despite everyone knowing how desperately he wants you except for you, he likes to act like it’s a secret.

“Alright,” he mumbles, shifting under you to see if he’ll be able to find a way to hold onto you. “Make sure to lock it when they arrive.”

Jeno and Jaemin don’t say anything else when he lifts you up and walks you down the hall toward his bedroom. He lays you on his bed first, pulling the blankets back to settle you beneath them.

You’re so peaceful like this—face soft, the slightest smile on your lips. He finds himself dragging his thumb along your cheek just to be able to touch you. You’re perfect to him. 

He climbs in next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you against his chest. You hum quietly, subconsciously turning to him and bury your head in his chest. He grins to himself at the feeling, at the idea of you being so accustomed to him that you’ll want him even in your sleep.

Kissing the top of your head, he lets out a sigh of content before resting back against his pillow.

Day 2 | June 2nd

The morning together was just like any other—you stayed cuddled up until eight came along and the others were whining down the hall about being hungry. Chenle wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone verbally, but the reason he likes these vacations so much is because of the privacy he gets with you.

Yeah, all of your friends are there, but they’re used to the level of clinginess Chenle has with you. His family, on the other hand? If they knew he woke up at 6:30 am and stayed with you wrapped up in his arms for an hour and a half…

“We should go help before they burn down the kitchen,” you murmur, sighing quietly.

“The longer I can stay in bed, the better.” He squeezes you tighter. “Five more minutes.”

You nod in agreement, shuffling closer. His hand rubs up and down your back, gently dragging his nails to help soothe you further. How you’re unaware of his feelings for you is beyond him—he’s always treated you this way. Like you’re the most important person in his life.

Because…news flash, you are.

Eventually, the two of you have to get up. Mark and Heewon are in the kitchen, and you immediately deduct that that’s a mistake. Chenle quickly shoos them from the kitchen, taking over the role of breakfast chef with your help.

While the two of you cook together, he never has to verbally ask you things. You’re in such harmony, it’s like you know every single move he’s going to make before he does.

“So,” Jaemin says, sitting down on one of the stools behind the island. “The girls said they want to go to the bar tonight. You guys down?”

“Tonight?” Your eyebrows pinch, and your lips turn downward. “It’s only day two.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to maximize our fun time,” Jeno interjects, taking a seat next to Jaemin. “We’ve only got thirty days before we return to the real world.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to count me out.” You scrunch up your nose. “But I’ll start doing things tomorrow. I just need to recharge a little more before I go out anywhere.”

Jaemin turns his attention to Chenle, either wanting him to convince you to go, or to see if Chenle will also be staying in.

“Sorry, Jaem.” Chenle shrugs. “I’m not leaving her here by herself.”

You appreciatively poke his side, something the other two boys don’t see, but it makes his heart flutter nonetheless.

“You two are only forgiven because of the breakfast you’re making. We expect hangover breakfasts tomorrow, too.” Jaemin crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.

“We’ll see.” Chenle continues chopping the onion, sending a quick smile your way when you finish washing the green peppers and putting them down in front of him.

He figured he’d be used to you by now—to the feelings he’s harbored for so long. But every time you prove, once again, that you know him just as well as you know yourself, it makes him want you so much more.

Chenle ended up making dinner, too, which was simply microwaving ramen for each person until everyone was content. Mark, Hyuck, Jaem, Jeno, Heewon, and Chaeyoung were all leaving by six, swearing they wouldn’t be home too late.

“Make them order pizza or something,” you suggest to him as you dry the dishes he washes. “They’re grown adults with money.”

“I kinda like this,” he admits.

“Cooking for the same friends you’ve been cooking for since 7th grade?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he snorts.

“Cooking for people in general,” he corrects. “And I like that you’re here to help me. Or just here at all.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean it like that. Let me appreciate your company, asshole.” He finishes up the last dish and turns the water off before handing it to you.

You hum in response, quickly drying it before setting it in the cupboard where it goes. Turning toward him, you lean the small of your back on the counter while your hands grip the edge. Your gaze scans over him, and he swears he feels his spine twist in the most delicate of ways. He loves when you look at him, and whenever you study him, he wonders what kind of lessons he teaches you.

“Thanks for staying back with me,” you say.

“Of course.” He waves you off. “I didn’t want to go to the bar anyway.”

“So, what do we do?”

Chenle chuckles. “Not a clue. The possibilities are endless, I guess.”

“Do you still have that karaoke machine?” You narrow your eyes at him as you await his response.

“Is that even a question? Hell yeah, I do. We can get it set up?”

The smile spreading across your face makes his heart skip, and despite how much he wants to reach out for your hand to pull you down the hall, all he does is gesture to the direction you need to go in.

You clap your hands, quickly following his lead.

This room used to be an office of sorts, but has since evolved now that Chenle’s parents don’t come here anymore. The desk has been pushed against the wall next to the TV, and a large couch takes up the majority of the room. A long time ago, he thought it’d be funny to buy a karaoke machine after he’d realized how much he likes to sing, and it just so happened that you felt the same way.

Every time the two of you come here, it’s a must. However, he hasn’t had the opportunity to have it be just you. Someone else was always intruding on his time, at least for the past few years.

Part of the reason he fell for you in the first place was because of how similar you were to him. You shared similar interests and passions that he didn’t usually find in other people. That, or he wasn’t looking once he realized how much he wanted you.

He loves music, and in every piece he hears, he finds you.

You deeply relate to the music you enjoy, and he admires that about you as well. You pick the songs for the evening, and he has no qualms. He’d rather listen to your picks on repeat than try and go off on his own.

The night starts off easy, some of the songs you pick are classics that you make him do every time. After three songs, you picked Cruel Summer. He knows all the lyrics by now—he memorizes everything that comes out of your pretty lips, regardless of if it’s a song or not. He’ll never forget those lyrics for as long as he lives.

Your laugh is so damn contagious. He tries his best to pull that sound from you every chance he gets, but the air around you is…bittersweet. These moments are his favorite—where he gets to have fun with you and forget the rest of the world exists. But they also make him want you more, and everything you could give him. He wants to be yours, and nights like these prove to him that you’re not.

Three songs in, and you’re both panting and laughing your asses off. Karaoke is never just singing—no, you dance until your legs feel like they’ll give out. That’s Chenle’s number one rule, that it’s never enough to sing the songs. You’ve got to perform them.

But Cruel Summer starts, and he can’t help but see the irony of you singing it in his presence. Or him joining you in it.

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it

He sings along, but he quiets himself. Listening to you has become one of his favorite pastimes, so he’ll take any opportunity he can. He dances with you, spins you around, and begs any sort of higher power that he can have you like this forever.

And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa, oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

A gold gleam catches in the dim lighting when he twirls you in a circle, and he grins. He loves when you wear that bracelet—which is all the time, because he’s got one nearly identical, but yours has his name on it and his has yours.

The chorus makes him move around the room, hyping you up at every chance he has. You laugh through the lyrics, out of breath from the previous songs, too.

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

God, he fucking loves you.

The room fades around him while he’s having fun with you, and he wishes he could spend every moment this way. With the excited glow to you, the carefree laughter, the genuine fun.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh)

As the lyrics pick up, he joins in for real. This part of the song is his favorite, because the next lyrics are exactly what he wants to say to you but can’t work up the courage to do it.

And I screamed for whatever it's worth

"I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

He imagines hearing those words from you, too full of emotion to keep them in any longer. You yell the lyrics between laughter, throwing your head back and dancing as if you’ve been drinking. He watches you so fondly, he’s sure you’ll notice. 

The chorus comes back, and you walk up to him like you’re serenading him, making dramatic hand motions while he laughs at you. His whole body buzzes when you’re like this. When everything else fades away and it’s just the two of you.

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh)

Something changes. He doesn’t notice at first, but your expression changes. The song is about to end, and his heart lurches violently in his chest.

And I screamed for whatever it's worth

"I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

He looks at you as the last lyrics pour from your mouth, the wide smile on your face dissipating when you see how close he is to you. Instead of yelling them like you did last time, the words trail off, barely leaving your mouth as a whisper. His chest heaves from the energy expended, yours mirroring his. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, the adrenaline sitting on top of his lungs as his brain malfunctions on what to do next.

Honestly, he doesn’t know who does it. Someone leans forward, and your lips are locked. Passion lingers, desperation tugging at his very soul at the feeling of your arms around him. His heart pounds in his ears, almost blocking out how Cruel Summer’s instrumental repeats in the background.

He clenches his fists in the fabric of your shirt, praying, hoping this isn’t one of his bullshit dreams. Without any idea how it happened, he relishes in the softness of your mouth, the way you accept his tongue so easily, and the soft moan you let out when he tugs on your bottom lip gently.

He pants harder now, forehead against yours as he tries to figure out what the hell he should do. You should stop. All of this is a mistake—he didn’t want his first time with you to be like this, where his want makes his pants tighter in record time. The only logical thought in his brain is that damn sound you just made and how he can drag it from you again and again.

Thunder booms in his veins as he pulls you back to him, the second he was without your kiss much too long. You press yourself to him, digging your nails into his shoulders. It’s almost like he has no control over his actions at the moment, the long-standing need for you clouding his judgment.

The pretty, pretty sound you make when he spins you around and practically slams the small of your back against the edge of his desk has him forgetting everything else exists. It’s only you. You and how fucking badly he wants you.

He doesn’t dare speak a word.

Inhaling sharply, he sweeps his arm across all the miscellaneous junk on top of it, successfully and messily clearing a spot for you to sit. You take the hint, hoisting yourself up on the edge and spreading your legs to give him room.

Heat pulses through the room, sending waves through his body. He wants to peel all of his clothes off, have you naked beneath him, and take you in all the ways he’s dreamed off. The glimpse of your black panties below that damn skirt has him more than ready for you.

You tug him closer, interrupting the way he stares at your core. His cock already strains, begging to be buried inside you. He’s not sure where the hell this side of him came from, but the dark gleam in your eyes has him forgetting there’s anything wrong with it.

Sweat already arises on his skin, the mere thought of having you this way enough to send him into a fucking cardiac arrest. There’s no time to be timid—he reaches beneath your skirt to find the hem of your panties, mouths still clashing beautifully.

Without interrupting the kiss, you nod, lifting your hips up so he can rip the skimpy fabric from your body.

Your hands fly down to his pants, and his heart starts doing backflips. Neither of you has said a word, and he thinks for a moment that he should…just to make sure he’s what you want. But at the same time, he figures you know as much as he does how this is a long time coming.

“Do you—”

“I need you right fucking now,” you murmur, shaky fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. “Fuck, help me.”

His mouth waters. He wishes he could take his time with you, but having you squirming and asking for him to be inside you makes him crazy. Without wasting another second, he reaches down and pushes his pants down to the middle of his thighs. He gasps when you grab him over his boxers, gripping him like you’ve done this exact thing with him hundreds of times.

God, he can’t fucking take it anymore. Pushing your back down against the desk, he flips your skirt up to expose your slick entrance to him. One of his hands grips your hip and digs his nails into your skin, and the other pushes his boxers down.

He debates with himself for a second on how he should do this. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, but he’ll really fucking explode if he’s not inside you within the next ten seconds. He plans on being good, on giving you a second to adjust to him, but when he gently starts pushing inside you, your wetness gushes around him.

Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and your back arches on the wood, and your mouth falls open, and suddenly he can’t control himself. If he gives himself a few seconds to enjoy you while he’s buried so deep, he’ll never be able to let you go. He’ll need to be inside all the time, and that doesn’t sound much like best friends.

Your moans spill recklessly past your lips, the jolt of his thrusts distorting the sound. Fuck, he loves you, but he never imagined sex could feel this good. You flutter around him, urging his cock to move faster, and he does his best to oblige. The desk slams into the wall over and over again, the sound almost as erotic as the sight before him.

You try and fail to find something to hold onto, and when he sees your friendship bracelet—the one with his fucking name on it—he loses it. He puts his hand beneath your neck, pulling you up so you’re face to face. Your face is blissed out, eyes barely staying open as he gives you everything he’s got.

His skin is sticky with sweat, the clothes uncomfortably clinging to his back, he reaches between the two of you, growing frustrated that he left your skirt on. He throbs inside you, desperate to reach his end, so gives the fabric a firm tug, and you gape when it rips at the seam. He half-expects you to scold him for ruining a perfectly good outfit, but instead, your hips buck toward his. 

A tingling sensation forms at the base of his length, and he knows it’s only a matter of seconds before he reaches completion. Without wasting another second, his hand dives between your legs, your arousal making his thumb glide effortlessly across your clit.

Your body shakes, and you lean forward to bury your head in his neck, biting down on his shoulder to contain yourself. He can’t hold back his moans, moving just a bit faster and adjusting his angle to increase your pleasure.

“Fuck, Ch—”

He tangles his fingers in your hair and tugs you back to watch your face.

“Fu—Close,” you whine, lifting your hips to match his thrusts. “I’m cu—”

You cut yourself off with a scream of pleasure, and he swears your walls clamp down on him so tightly, his cock will get stuck. His thrusts falter at the overwhelming feeling of your euphoria, and as soon as it hits you, he’s spurting inside you.

He kisses up the side of your neck, barely breathing properly as he regains his composure. His orgasm wracks his body, pulsing throughout his veins and his bones.

You grasp onto him for dear life, and he returns your embrace. His chest is against yours, both hearts pounding.

And then reality sets in. The music returns to his ears, the beat to Cruel Summer still on a loop, and he wonders how closely you relate to the lyrics.

“Um,” you say breathlessly. “Wow.”

“That…”

“Happened.” You nod, a dazed look on your face as you blink past the shock.

He gulps, wishing that best friend telepathy was real at a time like this. How does he respond to that? Did you enjoy it? Are you already regretting it?

“Chenle,” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“You’re still…inside me.”

His face burns, and he quickly pulls out of you, trying not to look at the mess he knows is between your legs. He turns away from you to settle himself back in his pants, and he finds your panties on the ground where he threw them.

He gives them to you, and you awkwardly shuffle off the desk before sliding the fabric back up your legs. But he doesn’t want you to…walk away. He wants to take you back to his bed and cuddle you to sleep. To take care of you like he should after such an intimate moment.

Surely, he can’t kiss you, can he?

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Seriously?” You frown at him. “That’s what you want to ask me right now?”

“I don’t really know how to—”

The front door opens, just down the hall as your drunk group of friends arrives back. Your face drops, and you curse under your breath.

“Damn it.” You frantically look around for something to cover your lower half before you go.

Guilt tears at Chenle’s chest—not just because of the ripped skirt, but because it seems like you’re not very happy with your decision. The last thing he ever wanted was to push you into anything. He grabs a blanket from the couch on the other side of the room and hands it to you.

“Chenle! (Y/N)!” Jaemin’s hammered voice booms across the house. 

“(Y/N), can we just—”

“Not now, Chenle.” You shake your head, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and grabbing the split fabric to hide it.

You loop your fingers in his belt loops to tug him close to you, and his jaw drops as he stumbles over. Instead of doing any of the things he wanted you to, you tuck his shirt into his jeans. He’s about to ask you what you’re doing, but then he feels how soaked it is.

Again, his face is on fire. How the hell is he supposed to do this?

He runs his fingers through your hair to fix the tangles, heart racing. As soon as he takes a step away from you, the door opens. Jaemin pours in without any concern.

“Well,” you say, chuckling. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“(Y/N), wait—” Chenle reaches out to you but decides at the last minute to stop, knowing how much is riding on that damn blanket staying put.

“Goodnight, Chenle.” You glance at him, eyes wide and swirling with something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“It smells weird in here,” Jaemin grumbles as he waddles around the room. “Why?”

“Dunno,” Chenle replies with a grimace. “It’s because you’re drunk. Off to bed with all of us.”

Yep…except he’ll be alone, when all he wants is to be curled up with you.

Day 3 | June 3rd

When Chenle wakes up in the morning, he’s pretty sure everything was a dream. He messes with the bracelet latched on his wrist, gulping at the memory of you. How is he supposed to act normally now?

He has to talk to you. Figure out what the hell you’re thinking, because if you regret it, it might break his heart, but he’ll know how you feel about him. You’ve told each other stories of previous relationships, hook-ups, whatever just came out randomly. He never imagined he’d be one of those hook-ups.

And now his bed is all too empty without you, and it’s only day three. 

Images of the night before flash through his mind, and he analyzes everything he sees to try and figure out what he did wrong. If he did something wrong. You almost always sleep next to him, so if this persists, the others will begin to notice, too.

He gets out of bed, hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants as he makes his way to the kitchen. Everyone else is awake, the guys and Heewon sitting on the couch. You and Chaeyoung were nowhere to be found, but he tried his best to make it nonchalant. He didn’t want everyone to know he messed up with you. That explanation would be hard.

He glances in the kitchen and still doesn’t see you or your closest friend (besides him, obviously), so he sighs and sits on the far end of the couch. The awkwardness creeps in, like the whole group secretly knows what you two did. Like they’re silently judging him for single-handedly ruining your friendship.

“Who shit in your cheerios?” Hyuck asks, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Huh?” Chenle frowns. “Nothing happened. I’m just tired.”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you weren’t feeling well last night. She and Chaeyoung went to town to grab some medicine or something.” Mark stretches before getting up to go into the kitchen. “She seemed worried, are you okay?”

Chenle gulps, and he hopes it’s not noticeable. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Thankfully, they continue their conversation. He can relax for a bit, and then when you come back, he’ll pull you aside. After all, he won’t let this fester. He needs to talk to you—to find out if you view him any differently since he crossed that line with you. The last thing he wants is for anything to change. He likes your friendship the way it is, but he’s also been so desperately in love with you for so long that hope clings to him like a leech.

The door opens, and his head jolts toward it when he hears your laugh. His hands clench into fists, and he’s halfway certain he looks like a lost puppy right now.

The second you see him, he watches your expression change. Your giggle stops halfway through, and you clear your throat as you give him the same wide-eyed look you gave him last night. He wants to jump up and tell you things don’t have to change, maybe even beg you for your forgiveness and say he’ll do anything to keep you in his life—

You and Chaeyoung disappear into the kitchen, and Mark comes back in shortly after. Chenle’s getting antsy, his anxiety sparking at the bottom of his spine as his foot taps on the floor. If he jolts up and runs after you, everyone will know something is wrong.

And if they all know, it’s only a matter of time before Jaemin opens his big mouth, and then you’ll be forever embarrassed by the idea of sleeping with Chenle, and summer vacations will never be the same.

So he gives you five minutes.

“...need to figure things out.” Chaeyoung’s voice is hushed, standing next to you on the far end of the kitchen.

“Yeah, tell me about it. But I—” You stop the moment you catch Chenle in the room.

“I think Jeno needs me for something,” Chaeyoung mentions, sending a small smile his way before darting out of the room. He sighs. If you told Chaeyoung, you’re probably more freaked out than he thought.

You look down at your feet as he approaches you.

“We need to talk about this,” he mutters. “I don’t like feeling like I fucked up.”

Your gaze darts up to his, your eyebrows furrowed as you scan over his face. “This isn’t really the best place to talk, Le. Any of them could walk in right now.’

“I’m not just—I’m not going to forget about it. It happened, okay? And it’s okay if you’re upset by it and you never want to be near me again, but I…I need to know. The silence is killing me.” He realizes it hasn’t been that long, but sleeping alone really got to him.

“Why would you think I’m upset?” you ask.

“You practically ran away from me last night. And you usually sleep with me, and you didn’t. You didn’t even tell me you were going anywhere this morning.”

“I figured you’d know where I was going.” You cross your arms over your chest, glancing away from him.

“How could I possibly have known?” he inquires.

“Chenle…” You let out a small laugh. “You…you came inside me last night. Chaeyoung took me to buy Plan B.”

His jaw drops as he flounders for words. Cheeks burning, he drops his head into his hands and sighs. “I’m a fucking idiot. I didn’t even realize, I was so—I’m so sorry, I don’t even know why I would ever—”

“Relax.” You put your hands on his shoulders. “I was the one who kissed you. You’re psyching yourself out, because I don’t regret it or anything like that. Actually, I’d…kinda like to do it again.”

Alarm bells ring in his head, and his eyeballs feel like they’re about to pop out of his skull when he looks at you fast enough to give himself whiplash.

“You want to…” he trails off, lowering his voice. “...have sex with me again?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You chew the inside of your cheek, fidgeting with your fingers. Quickly, you continue, “Obviously, nothing has to change. Like, I’m not asking you for…a relationship or anything. There won’t be any rules. Except the fact that you have to…you know, use a condom, but we could just…have a good summer.”

His heart sinks. What you’re proposing is not what he wants. It further proves to him you don’t reciprocate the feelings that led him to his recklessness last night. He shouldn’t agree. No, he should say he’d prefer to keep anything…sexual…out of your friendship, but God damn it, he was tired of leaving his love on the side. Maybe he can’t tell you out loud, but if you’re okay with sleeping with him, he’ll show you.

“Chenle?” you whisper. “I’m sorry if that’s too much. You can forget I said anything.”

You scramble to gather yourself before you try to turn away from him. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you back to him.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He pauses, sighing. “Are you sure, (Y/N)? This could get messy.”

“I know I said no rules, but I’m a little bit of a control freak—”

“You act like this is the first time I’ve met you.” Chenle chuckles.

You glare at him before continuing. “Anyway. Nobody can know. I told Chae, but she had to drive me so she doesn’t count. Plus, she won’t tell the others. So, we act normal around our friends, okay? And we don’t…talk about it. Things happen as they will, and we wait until at least the end of June to figure things out.”

“It sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he admits, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“We don’t have to change. But I did like yesterday, and it’s been so long since someone’s made me—” you cut yourself off, pressing your lips into a line. “You know what I mean.”

“I…Yeah, I do know you’ve been with trash guys—”

You gently smack his chest, glaring at him. “That was not permission for a dig.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, his heart melting in his chest when he sees the smile spread on your face. Maybe you don’t have feelings for him, but you don’t hate him—that’ll be enough to get him through this. At least for a while.

“So, we’re good?” You look up at him.

He’s no match for you. Not in any case or situation. His heart belongs to you, and it tears him apart piece by piece to know yours isn’t his.

“Of course, we’re good.” He nods, pulling you in for a hug and sighing in relief. “We can do whatever you want to do.”

“Oh, but that sounds like you don’t want to.” You cringe, but he laughs.

“This is kind of new territory, you know. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have done it the first time.” God, but he wants so much more. He wants all of you, not just momentary flings.

You pull back from him, your gaze gleaming. “And how long have you wanted to do that?”

“I’ll have to get drunk before I tell you the answer to that.” He snorts. “Let’s go back out there before they realize how long we’ve been in here.”

The rest of the day was uneventful to say the least. Chenle was happy to have you back at least in your normal friendship way, so he just enjoyed the way you put your legs over his lap and rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t feel awkward around the group like he expected to be, but it wasn’t until later in the night when it really set in. With the two of you in his bedroom, the door closed (and locked).

Watching you closely, he’s dying to reach out and touch you. He’s not sure if it’s normal urges he always felt or if they’re new, from the way he had you just yesterday. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fidgets with his hands.

“You don’t have to be awkward,” you mention to him as you pull your shirt over your head.

He’s not a stranger to seeing your body. You’ve never been uncomfortable changing with him in the room, and he does the same with you. He almost laughs to himself at the thought of seeing you more naked beforehand than while you had sex. His mind races, and when you reach behind your back for the clasp of your bra, his face heats up and he averts his gaze.

It doesn’t matter what he agreed to—it doesn’t feel right to look at you in a state like this without your permission.

Once you’ve pulled one of his T-shirts over your head, you walk over to him, nestling yourself between his legs. He gulps as he looks up at you. Your finger traces along his jaw, eyes scanning over his face.

“Normal, right?” he whispers, gripping the back of your thighs.

“Totally normal.” You nod.

“But I still can…kiss you? If I feel like it?” His voice almost fails him, his heart lodged in his throat.

“When we’re alone, you can do whatever you want.”

Your words make his heart stop in his chest, and he realizes the implications of this. If he’s fallen completely for you without kissing, sex, and the intimacy of those physical aspects, what will it be like when he gets you whenever he wants?

“I want it, too.” You cup his cheeks and tilt his head up.

“And if it’s just kissing?” he asks. “What if that’s all I want right now?”

“Whatever you want,” you reassure him. “I’m not expecting you to want sex every night, you psycho.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you closer, one of his hands grasping the nape of your neck. The initial brush of your lips against his has his breath shuddering. He’s not prepared for any of this. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, but the way your mouth tastes has every sense in his body heightened.

He curses under his breath when you climb on top of him and straddle his lap. It still feels like he’s taking advantage of you like this—you don’t know his true feelings, so how could he do this to you?

“Chenle.” You sigh and halt your movements. “If this is too weird for you, we don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, hands immediately flying to your ass and pushing you closer to him. His length is beginning to harden, and he moves you to make sure you feel it through his shorts.

“I…want you.” He squeezes, making your hips roll.

“Then what’s going on?” you ask.

“I just need to get used to it,” he replies. “To acknowledge how much I…It just feels kinda like I’m dreaming.”

“Why?”

“You…” His cheeks are so hot, he thinks they’ll burn off. “I never thought you’d want me like this.”

You chuckle, and much to his dismay, climb off his lap and get into bed. “Little do you know, I was thinking the same thing.”

He yearns to reach out to you, to pull you back to him, but instead, he lets out a sigh and takes his spot next to you. The last thing he needs to do is push you. He’d walk on eggshells if he had to, if only it meant he could keep whatever fragile intimacy occurring between you.

He wraps his arm around your waist, taking a deep breath as you turn toward him and bury your head in his chest.

And after you fall asleep, he’s still up through the night, trying to figure out if there’s any chance of this ending in his favor.

Day 5 | June 5th

He wants you.

Everything inside him burns at the thought of your agreement, and he needs to pull you away from your friends and have his way with you. He tells himself over and over again that patience is key, but he can’t stand it.

The last few days were uneventful—well, as uneventful as they could be when it came to his newfound physicality with you. He thinks of kissing you in front of everyone, showing all of them where his head has been since the second night at this damn place.

How is he so needy after three days?

In closed quarters, you kiss him, hug him, grind on him, he’s sure his head is going to explode any moment. The night at the bonfire is coming to a close, but not fast enough.

“(Y/N)!” Mark calls out from the water’s edge. “How much money for you to jump in?”

You let out a loud ha! and shuffle away from Chenle. The air is warm, so he knows you’ll be okay, but he’s also concerned by how much he’s interested in seeing your body soaked with—

Hyuck’s hand smacks Chenle’s chest, causing him to cough and shoot a glare at the other man. “What the hell?”

“Why are you staring like that?” Hyuck asks. “Nervous Mark’s gonna steal your girl?”

“She’s not my girl.” He has to force the words out. After all, he doesn’t really believe them….or want to. “I’m just tired.”

Donghyuck lets out a childish chuckle, putting his beer bottle to his lips and chugging the rest of it. Chenle sips his own drink, returning his grumpy stare to you. You’re laughing uncontrollably as you climb out of the water, soaked from head to toe. Your head falls back as you hit Mark’s arm, barely able to contain yourself from whatever Donghyuck made him miss.

You’re barely lit by the firelight, but Chenle’s never seen someone so beautiful. Fooling your friends won’t be hard—he knows damn well he’s always acted the same way around you that he does now, and he certainly has been this clingy since day one. You give him one of your award-winning grins, and before he can object, you flop yourself down on his lap, cackling evilly as the water soaks through his clothes, too.

“(Y/N), what the hell—” Chenle attempts to push you off, but you push yourself into him further.

“I’m soaked.” You don’t stop giggling, but Chenle hates the way he reacts to those words.

His face flames, and before you understand what happened, he pushes you from his lap so you’re sitting next to him on the chair. You look at him inquisitively, and he ignores you with another quick drink.

Music plays from the speakers. You get up to switch the song since your phone is the one set up. It’s only at that moment he realizes you know exactly what you’re doing. Cruel Summer plays, and every inch of his body catches on fire.

His throat dries, and you look at him over your shoulder.

Despite every muscle in his body craving for him to approach you and pull you back into the house, he gets up to grab another bottle instead. The night is going to drag, and he’s almost guilty for how he’s thinking. He’s supposed to be here and enjoying the summer with his friends, and all he wants is to be alone with you.

Pushing you to the back of his mind, he tries to engage more in conversations with the group. He gets into a somewhat heated discussion with Jaemin about global warming, and when you take your spot next to him, he naturally puts his arm around you as you lean into him.

“Can we go to bed?” you ask him, lips brushing his ear. “I’m tired.”

“We should wait,” he replies, taking in the rest of the group. “Just a bit longer, okay?”

You whine quietly but nod, putting your head on Chenle’s shoulder. He’s itching to drag you to his bedroom, but he wants things to be as normal as possible. The two of you rarely cut the party short, and on top of that, he’d prefer to know where everyone else was before he started touching you.

It’s only another ten minutes before Heewon decides she’s done for the night. Chenle nearly sighs in relief.

Everyone agrees to head in, and you all casually separate with a quick goodnight. As soon as Chenle’s door closes behind him, he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

“You okay?” you ask him, turning him to face you. “You’ve been off all day.”

He shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip as he examines you. “You…you said you wanted this, and I’m kind of confused. If you act the same, how do I know when you…you know.”

Your eyes gleam as you smile at him. The sight alone has his heart doing somersaults, and he suddenly wishes he could take the question back. He’s tired of wondering—he needs to figure out what all of this means.

“You’re so cute, Lele,” you tease him. “How are you supposed to know when I want you? Always. I’ve been waiting for you to initiate because you seemed a little uncomfortable, so I didn’t want to push you.”

“So, all I need to do is tell you when I’m…” He cringes at himself. “This is weird.”

You move closer to him and sling your arms over his shoulders. “Exactly. All you have to say is that you want me, and I’m yours.” Your voice is so soft and sweet, it caresses his ears and flows into his brain, and his senses become overrun by you.

“I do. Right now.” Is all he says before he swallows his nerves and connects his mouth with yours. You gasp against him, startled at the sudden movement, but within seconds, return his gesture.

His hands move to the small of your back and press you as close as possible, his lips working messily against yours. He wastes no more time; walking you backward, he lets you fall back onto the mattress.

Settling himself between your legs, he takes a second to look at you—to study your face and the look in your eyes that’s never really changed. He wonders how long you’ve wanted him for. Your thighs part to welcome him perfectly, sighing when he rolls his hips tentatively.

“This,” he whispers, lips grazing your neck. “This is how it should’ve been the first time.”

His nerves seep away when your body shudders beneath his. Your hair is still slightly damp, clinging to your skin and enticing him further. He grinds his hardening length over your core and kisses you gently.

“You have to be quiet,” he continues. “Jaemin and Jeno are right down the hall.”

You nod, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him back to you. “I know. I’ll be good, Lele.”

He gapes for a moment, not used to words having such an effect on him. Gulping, he reaches up and runs his thumb along your bottom lip.

“That’s right,” he confirms. “Be a good girl for me and you won’t regret it.”

Your gaze gets a shade darker, and the thought of what awaits him beneath your clothes overwhelms him completely. You grab at his shirt, attempting to pull it off his body. He moves back to remove it, and then you’re arching your back to allow him to do the same to you. Sitting on his knees, he moves his hands up your body until they’re squeezing your breasts through your black lace bra.

“Can I—”

“You don’t have to ask, Chenle.” You cup his cheeks, lifting his head so he sees you. “I trust you.”

He’s uncomfortably hard at this point as he takes your shorts off you. Your panties match your bra, and he swears he’s never been closer to finishing in his pants. Nobody has ever made him weak like you do. They’ve never appealed to him in the same way, a way of adoration and love and all the beautiful things life has to offer.

You sit up to unclasp the material supporting your chest, tossing it across the room. Everything inside Chenle melts. You, in this vulnerable state, staring at him impatiently as he pushes you back against the mattress.

He dips down, taking your nipple in his mouth. A quiet sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and his hips buck against yours. He grinds against you as if he’s already thrusting in and out, and he groans at the thought of your wetness all over him.

His nails drag up and down your thigh, and as he pulls away from your breast to move to the other, a strand of saliva follows. The sight is far more erotic than he imagined, and he grips your thigh harshly.

“Kiss me,” you ask him. “Please.”

And someone like him could never deny someone like you—he lunges upward to capture your mouth, his tongue battling with yours as he moves his hand to the hem of your panties. He pulls away for a second, glancing at you once for confirmation.

You nod, almost frantically, and he decides it’s okay to let go for tonight. You want him as badly as he wants you, so why should he hold back? He curses under his breath the second he feels your arousal on his fingertips.

At first, he teases you, running his finger up your entrance until he’s brushing your clit. He smirks at the way you squirm beneath him, desperate for his touch. He’s the one you want.

“Ask me nicely,” he hums against your neck. “Be good and tell me you need me.”

“God, Chenle,” you whine, rocking your hips. “Please touch me. I need you so bad.”

His own eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when he pushes two fingers inside of you. You grip him so tightly, he wonders how you took him so well just a few nights before. He’d been an asshole and got right to it instead of working you up.

Your breaths turn into whimpers, and your walls quiver around him. He’s already lost in you, in the way you feel on his fingers and the scrunch of your face as you try to hold back the noises you’re desperate to make. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to fall for you more than he already has, but tonight, he learns that falling in love is not linear, and it doesn’t stop.

Tonight, he finds out that it’s a free fall into the deepest ocean, and the only option is to sink further in the water and let the waves take him.

He swallows your quiet moan, positioning his thumb on your clit as he continues his descent into madness. Your walls begin to tighten, so he instinctively kisses you, using his hand to help you ride out the high that’s sending shivers down your body. You squirm beneath him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip.

“Where are the condoms?” he asks you.

Still dazed, you blink a couple times. “Uh, I…they’re in the nightstand I think.”

He kisses your cheek, irritated at the coldness when he moves away from you. Sighing in relief once he finds the box, he opens it and tears one away from the rest. He tries to swallow his nerves, but when he sees you resting on your elbows, waiting for him, he halts.

This is you.

The one he’s always been able to be himself around, and what if he’s ruining it by thinking with his dick?

“I know that look.” You lift yourself off the bed and approach him, grabbing the wrapper from him. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I want to,” he says, wetting his lips. “I want you, but I don’t want to lose you.”

You frown, shaking your head and pulling him closer. “It doesn’t matter how this goes, Le. You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

I love you almost slips, but he holds it back. But God, he’s sure he’s never loved you more.

You reach down to push his shorts and boxers down before guiding him back. He sits on the edge of the bed, gripping your hips and refraining from yanking you onto his lap and sliding his cock in.

When you open the condom wrapper, his heart is about to jump out of his chest. And then you’re putting it on him, pushing your panties to the floor, climbing onto his lap to straddle him, and rubbing his tip against your entrance.

It’s like time stops as you sink down on his length. Moonlight flits in through the windows, illuminating your body and your skin and the subtle eye roll. He can’t breathe. Every time he tries, his lungs fail him, as if you’re drowning him with everything you have.

He wraps his arms around you, your chest pressing to his as he slowly, slowly guides you down on him. You both sigh together, trying not to alert your friends down the hall. 

“You’re amazing,” he mutters, dazed. “Feels so fucking good.”

You drop your head onto his shoulder, your uneven breaths fanning across his skin. He rocks his hips, but your tightness almost makes it hard for him to move. This time, he doesn’t want to rush. He wants to enjoy all you have to offer and take his time with you—make love to you, really.

“Hold on, baby,” he whispers, wrapping you in his arms. “Gonna turn us over.”

He does just that, the clench of your walls on his cock enough to make him delirious. After you shift to get comfortable, he intertwines his fingers with yours and pushes your hand deep into the mattress next to your head.

With his chest brushing yours, he moves, taking his time in pulling out only to push back in. Your head falls back against the mattress, your eyes closing. You squeeze his hand as hard as you can, doing your best to lift your hips to match his thrusts.

The room is full of moonlight, soft pleasure, and the sound of him pushing into your dripping entrance.

He whispers praises in your ear, telling you how good you make him feel and how you take him so well. The slickness of sweat makes your bodies stick together, and the room gets hotter and hotter the longer he’s seated deeply inside you.

The first time he had you, he barely had time to process what happened. This time, he’s basking in the moment, giving you gentle kisses over your face as he keeps a steady pace. He wants to stay here like this forever, but he knows better than to let that thought run rampant in his head.

He releases your hand—which ends up in his hair—as he reaches between the two of you and presses his fingers to your clit. You whine a little louder than you should, so Chenle silences you with his mouth. The position is a bit awkward for him, but the buck of your hips makes sure that’s the last thing on his mind.

Your body shudders beneath him, moans spilling into his mouth for him to swallow and keep for his own. He thrusts a little faster, eager to bring you to your edge and experience your pleasure for himself.

You whisper his name like a mantra, euphoria quickly claiming you as you drag your nails down his back. In the midst of that feeling and your walls clamping around him, he bursts into the condom, cursing under his breath. 

Despite his dry throat, he manages to kiss along your neck while attempting to regain his breath.

“That,” he tells you. “Is how it should’ve been.”

“Feel free to do it like that all the time.” Your tired giggle fills his ears.

He squeezes your thigh gently as he pulls out of you, ready to groan at the loss. You lay there with a smile on your face as he disposes of the condom in the adjoining bathroom. When he returns to you, he’s surprised to find you under the blankets on your side.

When he raises an eyebrow at you, you shrug. “You can get dressed if you want. I’m too tired.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he climbs into bed next to you and pulls you close to him. Your skin is damp with sweat, but he’s sure his is worse. He kisses the top of your head, and just like so many nights before, he hums songs for you until you fall asleep.

Day 6 | June 6th

In the night, you curled further into him. His eyes are closed, but he’s been up for a while. Fingers trailing up and down your spine, he thinks he’s reached his peak. The summer sun amplified through the window warms his skin, but more importantly, it illuminates you and the softness of your features as you sleep.

The brightness blinds him, but he doesn’t mind. Not when his focal point is you.

He made love to you last night. All of his feelings were delivered to you on a silver platter and, just for a brief moment, he thinks he saw it back from you. Like there’s a part of you—however small—that wanted him the same way.

The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall wakes you, and you wrap your arm around him tighter.

“This is nice,” you murmur, kissing the base of his neck.

“I think so, too.”

“Do we have to get up?” You shake your head as if answering your own question.

He chuckles. “It might look weird if we don’t.”

“I need to shower.” You shift onto your back and run your hands down your face.

He uses the opportunity to move over you and kiss down your neck, finding your pulse quicker than it should be after just waking up. Nipping your skin to stop his smirk, he inhales your scent.

“You could always come with,” you offer, running your fingers through his hair.

“Now, that’ll be obvious.” He chuckles and pulls away from you, removing himself from the blanket as he stretches. When he looks back at you, you’ve already grabbed his T-shirt from the ground and are in the process of putting it on. He gets a brief glimpse of you. Slamming his eyes shut, he assumes nothing good will come of seeing your naked image in his mind over and over again.

The bed dips behind him as you climb over, draping your arms over his neck and kissing his cheek. “You should do it anyway.”

He snorts and pushes you away jokingly. With your signature grin plastered on your face, you make your way into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Once he hears the water starting, he drags himself over to his bag to get dressed. He decides on a pair of sweatpants and a black T-shirt, and on his way out of the room, Jeno is also heading for the kitchen.

Chenle avoids his eyes as much as possible, wondering if any of his escapade with you last night was audible for him or Jaemin. Chasing the thought out of his head, he goes straight for the water bottles in the fridge.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Mark asks, eating the watermelon Chaeyoung cut up a couple days back.

“She’s in the shower,” Chenle replies nonchalantly, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink.

“You didn’t want to join her?” Heewon laughs from the side as she butters her toast.

He narrows his eyes in her direction. “And why would I do that?”

“Well, you guys do everything else together,” she replies.

That earns her a cackle from Hyuck, but Chenle shakes his head.

“We don’t do everything else together.”

“Right, you guys are just dating without the benefits of getting off.” Mark pretends to be lost in thought.

Chenle’s heart twists violently in his chest, nearly lurching him forward. He wants everything from you—anything you want to give him, he’d take without hesitation. Heewon scolds Mark quietly and smacks his arm, because apparently that was what was too far.

He half expects Jeno to pipe up and expose exactly how opposite your relationship with Chenle is now, but he stays silent. Hopefully, that means Jaemin and Jeno heard nothing from last night. Your sounds were for Chenle and Chenle only, and a part of him felt glory in that.

The teasing from the friend group never bothered him before, but with this new side of your relationship, he let the words sink in deep.

How exactly was he going to make it out of this unscathed?

Day 8 | June 8th

Both of you knew it was risky, but something about you had him bent way out of shape. The group was doing their yearly ice cream run in less than an hour, and all he cared about at the moment was being inside you.

He put you on the bathroom counter, your body next to falling off it if he wasn’t holding onto you so tightly. Without much warning, he enters you completely with one thrust. His hand covers your mouth, capturing the moan spilling past your lips. Your eyes roll back, and he swears that sight alone is almost enough to get him off.

You murmur his name against his palm, head lolling back.

“Sorry, Sunshine.” He nips your earlobe as he rocks his hips gently to help you adjust to his size. “We’ve gotta be fast.”

“‘M good,” you say, gripping tightly onto his shoulders.

He takes the hint, beginning his movements a bit quicker than he normally would. Even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in days, the world sways around him as if he’s drunk. You’re what’s intoxicating him, and in the moments where you’re connected, he feels like he’s on cloud nine.

One hand rests on the small of your back, and the other stays on your mouth, desperate to finish but needing you to stay quiet. Whenever he thinks of being with you in this way, he tries to fuck you in the ways you deserve—make you feel so good you’re dreaming about it long after you’re done—but both of you are far too desperate right now to consider anything like that.

Your nails leave angry red crescents in his skin, but it only spurs him faster. His hips rutt against yours, his body craving the complete euphoria he’s only ever been able to accomplish with you.

His gaze meets yours, and he finds your eyebrows furrowed. Since he’s got such a firm grip on you, you move one of your hands and slide it down your body, watching him closely as if he’s going to stop you.

As soon as your fingers find your clit, you groan and your walls flutter around his cock. He curses, and his next sharp thrust has you whining.

“I’m so…” you trail off, body nearly falling limp in his grasp.

But just before you reach your high, the bedroom door opens, and there’s approximately two seconds before whoever walks in sees inside the bathroom. The next curse that falls from his lips is for two reasons—one, because all he needed was another minute, and he would’ve reached his high. Two, because he now has to figure out a way to make this look like anything except what it is.

He pulls out of you, readjusting your panties and guiding you off the counter before he tucks his painfully hard cock back into his sweats, condom and all.

“(Y/N)’s sick,” he calls out. “Give us a few minutes and we’ll come out okay? She’ll kill me if I let you see her like this.” He moves over to the door and closes it, locking it before whoever it is can see the mess you’ve turned him into.

“Oh, be fucking for real,” Chaeyoung’s voice says. “(Y/N), are you really sick? Or are you two—”

You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear her. Instead of letting Chenle answer, you pull your shirt down to cover yourself before cracking the door open.

“I’m okay. We’ll be out in like, two seconds.”

“You horny bitch.” Chaeyoung purses her lips. “Can’t stay off his dick for five minutes.”

Chenle feels his insides churning at that comment. For a moment, he’s sure she’s being serious, but then both of you burst into laughter, and Chenle’s blood cools.

“We would’ve been out already if you hadn’t interrupted us.” You pinch your fingers together. “I was this close.”

“Are you at least using condoms?” she asks in a hushed voice, turning the tips of Chenle’s ears bright pink.

“Yes, mom, now if you could go, I need to put some actual clothes on.” You shoo her away.

“The guys want ice cream. No dick until later,” she tells you, laughing as she walks out of the room.

You let out a sigh and close the door again, biting down on your bottom lip as you look at Chenle.

“Sorry, we don’t really have TMIs, so she…” You clear your throat.

“No, that’s…that’s good that you have someone to talk to about all of this that’s not me,” he says, walking up to you to put his hands on your hips and tug you close. “You think she’ll be mad if I just…”

He turns you so your back is to his chest, lips latching onto your neck as his touch trails down to the hem of your panties.

“I’d hate to leave you hanging when you were this close.” He tongues along your pulse, skimming below the hem of your panties.

“You’d better make it quick, Lele.” You lean your head back on his shoulder. “She’ll kill us.”

He grins smugly at the invitation, allowing his fingertips to graze lower until he finds your clit. You’re still soaked from being robbed of your high, so your body jerks at the sensation. He grinds against your ass, proving to you how badly he wants to be inside you.

“T-this is going to be embarrassingly fast.” You pant, rocking your hips back and forth. “I need more.” Your hands grip the edge of the countertop, pained whines escaping you.

He moves faster on your clit, and before he’s able to comprehend what’s happening, you squirm and bite down on your hand to stop your noises.

“Look at yourself, baby,” he whispers, his other hand sliding up to your throat to guide your face toward the mirror. “Look at how fucking good you look when I’m touching you.”

You inhale sharply, moving your own hand up to his to press his fingers in around your neck. He rubs you faster, taking his own initiative in squeezing you to control your breathing. Looking up at your reflection, he almost starts drooling at the sight of what he’s doing to you.

Your whines turn into breathless wheezes, and seconds later, you part your lips to let out a silent scream of pleasure as your insides clench around nothing.

He slows his circles to help you come down from your high, showering your shoulder and neck with kisses.

“Alright,” he whispers, retracting his touch from you. “We’d better get going.”

“But you didn’t—”

“You’ll make it up to me later.” He kisses you one last time. “You look so fucking sexy when I’m touching you.”

“Keep talking like that and we’ll never make it out of this bathroom,” you warn him.

You’re doing it on purpose.

Every year, the group goes to the same place for ice cream. Chenle’s been coming here ever since he was a young boy, but it’s been at least 5 years since he started bringing the rest of your friends, too. They have new experimental flavors, and it’s his mission to try all of them.

So, of course, he chooses one, and you choose a different one. The two of you are meant to be acting normally, but the way your lips close around his spoon has his mind spiraling. Not to mention how you make eye contact with him, and that damn gleam in your gaze is enough to make his cock jump in his pants.

How did he ever live without being inside you before?

“Hey, guys.” Chaeyoung tosses her arms over the two of you, grinning widely before lowering her voice. “If you don’t want people to know, you’re doing an awful job. You’re looking at each other like you ingested the worst Harry Potter love potion imaginable.”

The word love throws him off track, and he quickly takes his spoon away from you and side steps to run his fingers through his hair. He has no idea what’s gotten into him. Usually, he’s pretty good about this kind of stuff. And to be honest, before he started messing around with you, he wasn’t nearly as horny as he is now.

No, because now, he feels like he needs to be touching you constantly, and if he’s not, he’s wasting valuable time.

He tries his best to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind. At some point, you’ll have to go back to being just his best friend. It pains him that this can’t be forever, but at the end of the day, he has you. Whether or not it’s completely is a different story.

Everyone takes their usual table outside, and you sit between him and Chaeyoung. The guys converse, the girls laugh over something, but Chenle isn’t joining either conversation. Worry sinks deep in his gut instead. He wonders if it’s okay for him to be as nonchalant about the two of you having sex as he is.

You’re his best friend. Regardless of his feelings toward you, he should’ve done the mature, right thing and declined this offer.

But he’s in too deep now, and all it takes is one wide smile from you to tilt the earth on its axis.

For the next couple hours at this ice cream parlor, things are back to normal. He suppresses his urges the way he always has. His mind lingers on you, especially when your voice and your laugh echoes in his ears, and this time…

This time, he knows what he has to do.

Day 15 | June 15th

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous.” You close his bedroom door behind you and cross your arms over your chest. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, frowning.

“Don’t play stupid.” Your foot taps anxiously on the ground. “One week, we’re all over each other, and now you’ve barely even touched me since Chaeyoung almost walked in on us. Is that what’s going on? You’re weirded out that she knows things about us?”

“Us.” He scoffs, tugging his fingers through his hair. “What us, (Y/N)?”

You visibly recoil, hurt playing out on your face as Chenle instantly regrets his words. Even then, he’s not going to back down from this.

“You’re starting to piss me off.”

“I…I don’t want sex.” He shrugs.

You wet your lips and narrow your eyes, trying to comprehend what he means by that. “That’s just—like, that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel like you have to have sex with me, Le, but if our friendship is going to survive this, I need you to be honest and open with me.”

“The sex isn’t the problem.”

“Oh.” Your voice waivers, and he immediately wishes he never opened his mouth. A short laugh of disbelief escapes you.

“It’s not you, either,” he quickly adds, grabbing onto your hand. “It’s really not. I…I still need my best friend, though. And it feels like I’m losing that side of you because things are changing. You said nothing would change.”

“I haven’t changed,” you tell him. “Everything I do is exactly what I’ve done last year or the year before that. I’ve been teasing you a little, yeah, but I thought you liked it. Am I an idiot?”

Chenle’s chest deflates. “No. No, you’re not an idiot. I’m an asshole.” He pulls you to his chest and cradles the back of your head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a little kid. All I want is my best friend, and I’m scared that after all of this is over, I’m gonna lose you. I don’t know how to live without you. You know that.”

“You’d only have to worry about ruining our friendship if the dick was bad.” Despite the thickness of your voice, your humor breaks through.

He snorts and pushes you away, rolling his eyes. “Dude, for real?”

“I’m just being honest.” You tug on his arm, and for a moment, he sees a glimpse of your previous friendship.

Maybe everything can work out.

“As your best friend, I think we should watch that movie with Mark and Chae.” You grab his hand and play with his fingers.

“Okay.” He nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how he ends up curled up with you on the couch, your back pressed to his chest and snuggled up with a blanket. He feels at peace for the first time in a long time, the steadiness of your breathing almost enough to lull him to sleep. The screen plays some sort of superhero movie, but he’s not too interested in it. He’s more interested in the way a small sound tumbles from your lips as you turn toward him.

He holds you close, smiling to himself at the warmth you create. When he glances back up, he meets Chae’s gaze. The woman scans over the two of you, her expression warm. Chenle thinks he imagined it for a moment since he’s so tired, but Chae gives him a thumbs up and turns back to the screen.

Day 16 | June 16th

“Chenle, can I talk to you for a minute?” Chaeyoung asks, leaning on the archway leading into the kitchen.

You went with Heewon and Jaemin to the store, so he had nothing to do otherwise. He nods and follows her into the other room. Grabbing the orange juice from the fridge, he tiredly gives her all of his attention.

“What’s up?”

“I saw the way you looked at her yesterday,” she begins, tapping her fingernails against the carpet. “So either you know how you feel or you’re in denial, but you need to tell her. One or both of you are going to get hurt by the end of this if you’re not honest with each other.”

“I appreciate the advice, Chae, but I’m not sure you have all of the facts.” Chenle crosses his arms over his chest.

“And what am I missing?” she asks.

“Honestly, you may know some things, but you’ll never know all of it,” he replies. “It’ll never be an easy situation to digest, but we’re best friends. We’re mature enough to handle this.”

“You realize if this all falls apart, it’s going to fuck up the rest of the group, too?” She frowns. “You guys aren’t really thinking this through.”

Right when Chenle goes to answer her, the front door opens, and he hears your conversation with Heewon spill through the house.

“Thanks for your concerns.” Chenle nods once before turning around to find you.

Day 17 | June 17th

Chenle throws his head back, hand tangled in your hair as you take his cock in your mouth. He sits on the edge of the bed and you kneel before him, drooling over his length. Your moans vibrate around him. This is the first time you’ve sucked him off, but he’s already found out this is as addicting as everything else.

“That’s it.” He allows his eyes to flutter shut and his eyebrows furrow the closer he gets. “You always take my cock so well, Sunshine.”

You whine, and his hips buck, slamming his tip into the back of your throat. You constrict around him, and his grip on your head tightens. God, he can’t fucking think straight around you. Your nails dig into his thighs, and despite choking around him, you continue bobbing your head up and down.

The base of his length starts to tingle, and he tugs your hair gently. “Gonna cum, baby, you don’t have to—fuck.”

Your response is to simply hollow your cheeks, the lewd sounds around the two of you almost loud enough to make him worry about others hearing it. The suction from your mouth has him approaching his high rapidly, and once you reach up to touch his balls, he cums in white spurts deep in your throat.

Day 18 | June 18th

“Chenle,” you whisper, leaning closer to him.

The summer wind brushes past the two of you sitting on the little porch connected to his bedroom. It’s the middle of the night, and the only thing covering you is a soft blanket. He has his own, but he regrets that. He wants to be wrapped up with you. The waves crash to the shoreline, the salty, ocean scent infiltrating everything around him.

“Yeah?”

“This is my favorite summer,” you tell him.

“Me too.” He squeezes your arm. “I’d stay just like this forever if I could.”

You make him open his arms before shifting yourself onto his lap and covering him with your blanket as you grind your bare body down onto his.

“What’s the likelihood they hear us out here?” you ask, leaning in to kiss along his neck.

“They’ve got a better chance of hearing us inside than this…” he trails off, wondering if he should really allow something like this to happen.

But soon enough, you kiss him for real. And when your lips are working on his, he’s inherently weak for you. It doesn’t take long for his cock to harden, and once it does, you line him up with your entrance.

“We don’t have a condom,” he chokes out, gripping your ass.

“Pull out when you’re about to cum, then,” you tell him. “If that’s okay?”

His hand finds the nape of your neck, pulling your mouth to his to seal his fate with a kiss. He guides you down on his cock, groaning at the feeling of taking you raw. You don’t even give yourself time to adjust, instead working your way through your sensitivity by bouncing on him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he reminds you. “Look at how well you take my cock.”

He’s learned so much about you during this short time, but he loves knowing what makes you crumble within minutes. His fingers wrap around your throat, and as he puts the perfect amount of pressure, your eyes roll and your hips work faster.

He tightens his grip, and your whine is interrupted. You show him no mercy, lifting and falling with such precision he wants to fill you up with his load.

The blanket is secure on your grip draping off of Chenle’s shoulders, so you nearly fall against him when his fingers connect with your clit. He’s teetering close to the edge, but he knows he has to pull out. No way is he cumming before you.

Your arousal makes him glide against your bud effortlessly, and he squeezes your throat harder at the same time.

“Chenle.” You gasp, pace changing as you get closer to your high. “Please cum inside. Need to feel your cum dripping out of m—fuck.” Your voice breaks as he thrusts up hard, hitting your spot. A broken moan escapes, nearly cut off by his grip on you, and your walls clamp down on his cock.

He watches you as he spurts his load and paints your insides, but all he sees is a blissed out smile and your heaving chest.

You slump against him and hum quietly. He grabs his blanket and wraps it around both of you, not wanting to leave you just yet. The summer breeze sweeps across the back of his neck, chilling the sweaty dampness.

He wants to tell you so badly.

He loves you. He wants to love you forever, but maybe he’ll only get these fleeting moments.

What a cruel, cruel summer this has become.

Day 19 | June 19th

The days pass so quickly. It’s been eighteen days since he first made you his, and all he wants is to make it last forever. The whole group goes to a movie theater, hopping between different rooms and films to catch a glimpse of everything that’s recently hit the big screens.

But he can’t take his eyes off of you.

The way you smile so widely in his direction. How all of your friends are so used to him being all over you.

Your laugh echoes around in his brain, and when the poor employee realizes what you’re doing, they try to stop you to figure out who you are. Chenle’s giggles join yours as he grasps your hand and pulls you toward the exit.

The two of you run, and with your fingers laced in his, you’re somehow separated from your friend group.

Once you’re outside, he presses your back to the brick of the building, kissing you in the midst of laughing. His hand latches onto the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back, and he works his lips on yours like magic.

How is he ever supposed to go back to normal after having you like this?

“Come on,” you tell him, grabbing his wrist and leading him away. “We’ve gotta find them.”

But he knows that no matter where you go, he’ll follow.

Day 20 | June 20th

He lost track of how many times his body has tangled with yours. How many times you’ve quietly, desperately called out his name while he takes you to new worlds you’ve never seen before.

He yearns to be grounded, to plant his feet back on Earth, but how does he do that when the universe that is you infiltrates his very being? All the stars and planets and milky ways and meteors float around in your dazed irises, and he caresses your face.

He loves you. He wants to tell you. He needs you to love him back.

Day 21 | June 21st

“Okay, this one is easy.” Donghyuck holds his hand up to reign in everyone’s excitement. “Never have I ever…kissed someone in the friend group.”

You glance at Chenle once, and he shrugs, so both of you lift your bottles. The point of this game? Get as drunk as possible. Every time someone says something you’ve done, you have to drink. Which means everyone is thoroughly surprised when every single person around the table sips from their cups.

“We’re the worst friend group,” Mark says, nearly hissing at the taste of the liquid burning down his throat. “We said ‘friends’ and turned it into an orgy.”

Heewon glares at him. “Dude.”

“Sorry.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

But soon enough, six pairs of eyes are on you and Chenle, and he immediately feels his face burning.

“You two want to explain?” Hyuck asks.

“Is everyone else explaining?” Chenle quirks an eyebrow, watching as Donghyuck purses his lips.

“No explanations unless you ask more questions,” you pipe up.

Chenle hopes that’ll divert the conversation from the two of you. His hand brushes over your knee under the table, and you send him a small smile.

“Fine,” Mark says. “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees you grab your bottle, so he doesn’t hesitate to do the same. He takes a fairly large drink, forcing the alcohol down his throat to make this night less painful.

Chaeyoung watches the two of you closely, and the rest of the group seems hyped up on adrenaline, like they’ve caught you and him in a lie of sorts. This news can’t be that shocking to them. Or maybe they’re all pining at the idea of being right.

But they’re not—you’re not in love with Chenle. Meaning, they’d be completely wrong.

Jaemin, who’s already had a bit too much from the hour of this game you’ve already been playing, laughs as he points at Chenle.

“I’ve got one.” He nods slowly, the smirk spreading across his face as he leans on Jeno’s shoulder. “Never have I ever had sex with my best friend.”

Your gasp is only audible to Chenle and Chaeyoung, who sits on the opposite side of you. Both you and Chenle are already holding your glasses, and you look at him, silently asking him if that’s something you should admit to the group.

You’re incredibly stiff, but Chenle watches as you slowly lift your hand. Before you get far, Chaeyoung smacks the back of Jaemin’s head.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” she hisses. “You can’t ask them things like that!”

Your cup lands back on the table louder than you planned. Chenle analyzes you, the stiffness of your back and the way you glance down at your lap instead of the rest of the group. His instinct makes him want to pull you away from them to somewhere you’ll be more comfortable.

“Oh, come on! They were about to admit to it.” Jaemin lets out a dramatic sigh. “Did you see the hesitation? They were seconds away from finally telling us if they’ve done it.”

Your hand lands on Chenle’s thigh, and he immediately knows what that means. A switch inside of him turns, and anger bubbles in his stomach. You’re his best friend, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else wants to know—the last thing he’ll let happen is any of them attempting to badger you into admitting something you don’t want the rest of the group to know.

“We’re all friends, why does it matter if we know or not?” Jeno agrees. “We’ve all been waiting for them to—”

“Knock it off,” Chenle deadpans, his voice dropping octaves. He leans forward, his arm crossing over you and his other hand gripping his bottle tighter. At the change in tone, everyone looks at him in shock, excitement fading into a nervous energy.

“Lighten up,” Donghyuck says. “They’re just joking—”

“Well, I’m not,” he replies, furrowing his eyebrows. “The hell’s wrong with you guys? You can’t tell when you’re making someone uncomfortable? Neither of us owe you anything, if you didn’t know that. You don’t need to know everything.”

“Okay,” Jaemin mumbles. “Didn’t know it was that big of a deal.”

“That’s because you don’t think, Jaemin. If anything happens between us that we want to share, we’ll share. But until then, mind your fucking business—”

“Lele,” you mutter to him, reaching forward to grasp his wrist in front of you. “Lele, it’s okay. They get it.”

He instantly relaxes at your words, running his tongue over his teeth as he rests back in his seat. You grasp his hand beneath the table and intertwine your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb against his skin.

“Sorry, (Y/N),” Jaemin says, fidgeting with his hands.

You give him an awkward smile and a nod. Chenle senses the atmosphere won’t return to the chaotic laughter it’d recently been filled with, so he wonders what’ll happen if he lets everyone know he’s taking you to bed.

When everyone resumes as much conversation as they can, Chenle leans in close to you to whisper in your ear. “Do you want to go to bed?”

It’s well past midnight, and the alcohol is starting to settle in his system. He is tired. You run your fingers through your hair and nod. He doesn’t say anything to the rest of the group, but you mutter something to Chaeyoung, who gives you a sympathetic smile and a nod.

Although he refrains from physically leading you away, he feels everyone’s eyes on the two of you. It shouldn’t upset him as much as it does. Plus, he wouldn’t mind all that much if they knew, but seeing the way it bothered you suddenly had him on ten. There was no other solution other than to put them all in their place.

Once you’re in the confines of his room, he pulls you into a hug. You melt in his embrace, your body basically limp. He rubs up and down your back, wishing he could take that feeling away from you for good. You deserve the best, and he wants to give it to you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know why they’d fucking do that.”

You shake your head. “They’d know eventually, right? We wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret forever.”

“They should never push something like that. They’re supposed to be our friends, (Y/N). You were uncomfortable.”

“Le,” you say, pulling back to look at him. “As much as I appreciated you standing up for me, all I want right now is my best friend, okay? Just…be that guy, please.”

Both of you change into your pajamas, and then climb into bed. If you wanted him to be your best friend, he could do that. Hell, he’s spent his whole life basically doing it, so as he pulls you to his chest, it’s like muscle memory.

Everywhere Chenle is, you’re right there next to him. Never behind, never ahead, always beside.

“Chenle,” you whisper.

“Yeah, Sunshine?” He strokes your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“I…Can you be my best friend and still kiss me?” you ask. “I don’t want anything else. Just kissing.”

He lifts your chin so you’re looking at him and gives you the faintest smile. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

Your eyes swim with all sorts of emotions, and while he’d love to sit there and analyze each one of them, you allow them to flutter shut in anticipation of his kiss.

He can’t recall a time where he’s kissed you so gently, as if you might shatter beneath his touch. Placing his hand on the small of your back, he presses you flush against him while his mouth works so effortlessly on yours.

There’s no heat behind it. The only sounds are of the rustling of his sheets, the soft sighs, and his quiet compliments between breathing breaks. He allows himself to get lost in this, in the way it feels so different from every other kiss he’s shared with you.

Those kisses all lead to sex. They were a bridge to being physical, but now all he wants is to lie in this bed with you forever, connected in such a basic and innocent way.

“You make all of it better,” you murmur, inhaling deeply. “Everything I am is for you, Zhong Chenle.”

“And you’ve built me from the ground up,” he replies. “I was created for you. I don’t know who I am without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.”

His heart runs rampant, doing all sorts of backflips in his chest. He starts to sweat even though he’s not physically exerting himself, and he desperately feels like he needs to grasp at something. If he doesn’t, he’ll fall…but can he even more than he already has?

Is falling in love something that happens gradually, continually, or is it all at once? Once you’ve fallen in love, can you still progress further into it, or is that feeling at its peak?

He thinks back to the first time he realized he wanted more from you. It’s been over a year since he admitted it to himself, and the person he was during that time never would believe that this is his life now.

“You promise?” Chenle’s nearly breathless, your words robbing him of the oxygen he needs to survive.

You smile ever so softly, nodding slowly. “I’m yours. Always.”

The promise sinks through his skin and into his bloodstream, flowing all the way through his body and infiltrating his brain. It means so much more to him than it means to you, he knows that, but he kisses you again anyway.

He kisses you over and over and over again. By the time the sun comes up in the morning, neither of you have slept, but your lips are swollen and your eyes are drooping.

No matter what, he’ll hold you to your word.

Day 22 | June 22nd

Two coffee cups steam from the table on Chenle’s patio. He sits, slumped, on the padded bench with you next to him, legs thrown over his lap. His thumb rubs your thigh. Exhaustion has yet to kick in, especially as he looks at you. Your hair is mussed, his T-shirt hanging off your shoulder and your shorts hiking up your thighs. Everything about this is domestic, and it makes his heart flutter.

He stayed up all night with you. The sunrise over the water leaves a calming wave cascading over him, and he gets an odd feeling that it’s all going to be okay.

He’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

You bring the coffee cup up to your lips, sighing at the taste. He made it for you. But not only that, he made it the way you’ve always loved it. You told him once, and he never forgot. Every detail he learns about you is immediately stored in his memory.

“Maybe we should tell them,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “That way, they’ll leave us alone. And whatever we’re doing would get a little easier.”

“Would it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“None of this is easy.” Chenle gulps, wishing he had the filter necessary to make him bite his tongue right now. “What we’re doing isn’t easy. We don’t even know what it is, so why would we try to explain it to other people?”

“Oh.” You drink more, tired gaze turning to the ocean in the distance.

“It’s not a bad thing. I’m just being honest.”

“Yeah, no, honesty is good,” you agree. “You’re right.”

“(Y/N), I��”

“No.” You hold up your hand. “We said the end of the summer, so I get it. I’d rather wait anyway.”

He wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you, telling you all the things he loves about you and how badly he wants you to be his forever.

“I’m gonna need six more cups of coffee.” You swing your legs off of him, and leave him sitting by himself, caught up in the warm, summer breeze the same way he’s caught up in you.

Day 25 | June 25th

Going out to the bar was the worst idea ever. The more you drank, the more you wanted to be all over Chenle. He didn’t mind it, but the more he drank, the more he wanted to touch you in ways that would have every saint covering their eyes.

You turn to face him, flashing lights reflecting off your skin as you dance with him. His brain is so clouded, so foggy, but he remembers you kissing him. He groaned into your mouth, pulling you closer and doing his best to maintain a rhythm with you. For a moment, he forgets that all of your friends are here too, but he has high hopes they’ll be too drunk to recall.

You pull away, jaw dropped as you remove his grasp on your and quickly stumble toward the exit. He curses under his breath, knowing he can’t let you go alone in a state like this. The world is tilting around him as he follows you, but he refuses to let you out of his sight. The protective urges come forward.

“(Y/N)!” he calls out to you as the two of you make it outside. “Hey! Stop it.”

“Leave me alone, Chenle.” The thickness of your voice has every last bit of alcohol drying up from his system. He jogs to catch up to you, grabbing your wrist and whirling you around to look at him.

Your eyes are bloodshot, tears falling down your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?” he whispers, tugging you to his chest. “God, are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” you reply, but your body shudders in his grasp.

“Come on.” He scoffs. “I didn’t stop being your best friend just because we’re sleeping together.”

You put your palm on your forehead, cursing under your breath. “I just kissed you in there. In front of everyone.”

“Yeah.” Chenle shrugs. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It was supposed to be simple,” you murmur, tugging on your hair with your fingers. “We were supposed to have fun this summer, and everything’s fucking falling apart—”

He recoils. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re gonna leave me.” Your voice breaks, and his heart right along with it.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“It’s all just—” you cut yourself off, clutching Chenle’s shirt. “Too much. I want you so fucking bad all the time.”

“Me too, baby, you know that.” He cups your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, I’ll always be right next to you. Promise, Sunshine.”

His own eyes well at the sight, but he wonders what really brought all of this on. He presses his lips to your forehead, allowing them to linger there a moment too long. Pulling you close, his gaze turns toward the building, where Jaemin and Heewon stand. He gives them the best, watery glare he can, and they quickly shuffle back inside.

It’ll never be him who leaves you. If anyone were going to run away, it will absolutely be you.

And that crushes his heart even further. Beats it to a tiny pulp and straight up purees it until it’s mush.

He takes you home, puts you in bed, and spends half the night out on his patio, leaning on the wooden railing and watching the waves crash into the midnight shore.

The view from here gives him a glimpse of the driveway, and the rest of the group pulls in not even an hour later. He makes eye contact with Jaemin, and while the others head inside, Jaemin approaches him with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” Jaemin says softly. “You got a few minutes?”

Chenle looks inside at your sleeping form and gently closes the door with a sigh. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Look, man, we all get it.” Jaemin’s feet thud quietly on the creaky stairs as he makes his way up, stopping and leaning his back against the railing as he analyzes Chenle. “We love you guys. A lot. And something weird has been going on, and it’s not like we don’t notice.”

“A lot of weird has been going on,” Chenle says, chuckling to himself. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. It’s just us now.”

The other man purses his lips, taking a deep breath of salty air. “You love her, don’t you?”

“I wish it were as simple as that.” He clasps his hands together, wondering how much he should say.

“It can be,” Jaemin replies. “You think she doesn’t love you?”

“I know she doesn’t,” he insists. “You don’t know her like I do.”

His friend nods, as if he’s conceding with what Chenle’s saying. But he knows better—Jaemin is good at these things. Regardless of whatever happened a few nights back, Jaemin is insightful when it comes to relationships despite not having much experience in that department.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, okay? But I know something is. And I notice (Y/N) talking to Chae a lot, but you never talk to anyone about serious things except for her. It’s okay to be confused and to want to talk about things.”

“She didn’t want anyone to know.” Chenle lets out a defeated sigh, allowing his head to hang between his shoulders.

“To know what?”

“We…” Chenle considers biting his tongue. At the end of the day, he knows he can trust Jaemin, and that he’d never do anything to betray Chenle’s trust, but the words leaving his mouth feel like a betrayal to you. “We’ve been hooking up, I guess.”

“Oh, like…more than once.” Jaemin blinks his shock away.

“Yeah. Like, the whole summer so far.” He runs his hands down his face. “We’d never done anything before, and I honestly didn’t think it would be a possibility. And then we did. And it was fast and not at all what I wanted it to be and just—sorry, Jaem.”

“No, no.” He gestures for him to continue. “Let it out. It’s good for you to process these things.”

“I thought I really fucked up by doing that, you know? She didn’t stay in my room with me that night, she didn’t even talk to me until the next day. Which maybe doesn’t seem bad, but it is for us. But then she said she wanted to do it again, and I…well, I obviously didn’t say no. Maybe I should have.” He picks at his nails, fighting hard with the lump lodged in his throat.

“Honestly, I’m having trouble figuring out why you won’t tell her how you feel.”

“If I tell her and lose her because of it, I genuinely don’t know how I’d live without her. She’s been in my life forever, Jaem. It’s not her fault I can’t keep myself in check,” he says.

“If she doesn’t realize you’re in love with her, she’s really fucking dense.” Jaemin chuckles to himself. “And you’re equally as dense for thinking that she doesn’t love you.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How?”

“Chenle, you’ve spent every day with her this summer. And I’m not going to pretend to know your business, but I’m sure all the alone time you’ve had hasn’t been innocent. Nobody in their right mind starts sleeping with their best friend without at least a little bit of a worry that they’ll fall in love. Come on, you two are practically dating already anyway.”

“It’s hard, okay?” Chenle brushes the other man off. “We said we’d talk about it at the end of the summer, so I’m gonna save my heart for a few more days.”

“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.” Jaemin taps the railing once more before he starts his descent down the stairs. “You won’t get what you want if you’re sitting around and watching it pass you by.”

Day 26 | June 26th

He told himself he would hold off on any more physical stuff before he was able to talk to you about what happened last night, but that was…apparently…short lived. Your chest presses against his, both of you on your sides as he gently massages your ass. You made it a point this morning to grind back against him until he was hard and aching. He’s not entirely sure how he’s avoided exactly this for so long.

He pulls your leg up on his waist, stretching you as he rubs his cock against your folds. You moan into his mouth as your slickness coats him, signaling to him that you’re more than ready to take everything he has to offer.

After a few moments of shifting, his tip enters you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he thrusts the head of his cock in and out. Chills already break out along his body, his palms sweaty as he teases you.

“Please,” you whimper. “I need more.”

“Greedy girl,” he scolds you, slowly pushing all the way in. “Pretty baby just wants to be full, huh?”

“Only you,” you mumble, nearly incoherently as you try to rock your hips. “Only greedy for you.”

Under normal circumstances, he’d care about the sound of the bed squeaking, or the way the headboard taps the wall with each of his thrusts, but all he’s thinking about is fucking good this position allows him to feel you.

After fucking you raw, the condom almost hinders the feeling of you clenching around him, but he tries to focus on giving you as much pleasure as he can.

“C’mon, tell me what you want.” Chenle bucks his hips hard, making you whine.

“Touch me. Wanna cum.” Your head lolls forward, forehead smacking into his chest.

“Touch you where, baby?” He pushes you further. “You’re already soaking my cock, what else could you need?”

“Lele, please—”

“I’ll stop,” he warns you. “Neither of us will finish if you don’t use your words.”

Dazed, you let out a frustrated moan, and he smirks at you.

“M-my clit,” you whisper. “Please touch me there.”

Your arousal squelches around him with each of his thrusts, and you squirm as you yearn for your orgasm that’s just out of reach. He considers teasing you more, but you look so fucking good like this, walls pulsing and begging for release, he can’t deny you.

His hand snakes down your body, and he kisses your jawline. “Don’t cum ‘til I say you can, okay? I’d hate to punish you when you’ve done so well so far.”

“If y—fuck.” You cut yourself off when his finger comes in contact with your swollen, aching bud, and your nails scratch down his back. He knows you won’t be able to hold back if he touches you in the right way.

“You gotta wait for me, baby, I’m almost there.” He thrusts harder, the creak of the bed becoming more prominent as he continues barely rubbing your clit.

“Lele.” You clench your eyes shut. “I c-can’t, oh my God.”

“But you’re so good.” He slams his hips against yours. “So fucking good, just a little longer.”

Your entire body shakes. He didn’t think he’d ever find something like this so arousing, but when you look at him and your eyes are welled with tears from your need, he curses, thrusts one more time, and cums hard into the condom when he’s buried deep inside you.

He can’t remember the last time he came this much, and he wishes he didn’t have this stupid fucking piece of rubber on. The idea of painting your insides white has him thrusting through his overstimulation to bring you to your peak.

He applies more pressure to your clit, pinching it, rubbing it until you bite down on his shoulder hard as your walls and body convulse in his grasp. Cursing at the jolt of pain he feels, he moans when he realizes how it adds to his pleasure.

“Holy shit,” he whispers as you let go of him.

“Asshole.” You laugh, attempting to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, scratching up and down your back. “It felt like you liked it.”

“Yeah, I hope that bite mark scars permanently.”

“Laying claim on me, are you?”

Oh, how he wishes you would.

Day 28 | June 28th

Today is arguably Chenle’s favorite day of the summer. Ironic, since it’s the second to last full day he has with all of his friends, but the tradition set is what makes him think this way.

A bonfire crackles in front of him, his arm over your shoulder as everyone stands around the climbing orange flame. The goal is each person writes all of their regrets down from the past year, and what they hope to accomplish over the next, and then they burn it. It’s an odd positivity ritual that none of them have ever skipped.

Chenle wrote his down the night before after you fell asleep.

Regrets:

I regret not telling (Y/N) I love her. Again.

I regret not seizing every opportunity that presents itself to me.

I regret wasting my life away while everything I’ve ever wanted is right in front of my eyes.

I regret shutting down and allowing my friends to help me.

I regret not advancing in my chosen career path.

Hopes:

I hope I will be able to express myself thoroughly.

I hope I will be able to tell (Y/N) my feelings.

I hope those feelings will be reciprocated.

I hope, above all, that she’s happy.

He glances around, taking a look at everyone around him. Jaemin, Jeno, Heewon, Donghyuck, Mark, Chaeyoung, and even you. Each person has had such a fundamental hand in the making of the person he is today, and a lot of times, he takes that for granted.

“Okay, who wants to go first?” Mark asks.

“I will,” you say, stepping up.

Chenle watches you with adoration, wishing he could move forward with you, but knowing there are some times where you have to shine on your own.

“Another year.” You clear your throat. “All of you mean the world to me. You helped me when I was twelve and in desperate need of a confidence boost, and you help me now at twenty-three when sometimes all I need is a drink and a cookie.”

A chorus of laughter falls from everyone.

“Mark, thank you for all of the midday pep-talks and reality checks. Jeno, thank you for being the comedic relief right when I always need it. Jaemin, thank you for always knowing what to say, no matter the situation. Chae, thank you for saving me from myself more times than I can count. Hyuck, thank you for knowing exactly when I want ice cream and a rant session. Heewon, thank you for never judging me despite my shit decisions.”

You turn back to Chenle, the gleam in your eye reflecting the billions of stars from the sky above.

“Chenle, thank you for never underestimating me and for knowing me better than I know myself. For all of the years we’ve had, and all the ones we will have.”

“You’ve got all of mine,” Chenle says to you.

With a final grin, you take your folded up piece of paper out of your pocket and toss it into the fire, and everyone watches as it burns to ash. Once you’re satisfied, you move back to Chenle and hug him tightly.

He deflates in your grasp, cradling the back of your head and relishing in the weight of your words.

Mark goes next, then Hyuck, Chae, Heewon, Jaemin, and Jeno, leaving Chenle to be the last one. He purses his lips, twirling his own note in his fingers as he glances over his shoulder at you.

It takes him a while to think of what he wants to say despite the fact he’s been looking forward to this since the vacation started. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smokiness of the air mixed with ocean salt, and really, truly thinks of how he’s made it as far as he has.

“Well, guys, another year down.” He shakes his head as he thinks of how fast time passes. “Life wouldn’t be the same without you guys. We get busy throughout the year, but I’m really happy we get to spend this time here and that we’re able to be together this entire month. Everyone has their unique roles in this friend group, and it’d be incredibly off if any one of us weren’t here. So, my thank you is for all of you, for being there for me and making this little bunch into a family. ‘Cause that’s what you guys are. You’re my family.”

He glances back at you much like you had done to him, and he’s met with your dazzling smile. His nerves calm at the sight, and he chews the inside of his cheek as he tosses his paper into the flame.

It’s like he physically feels the hurt, regret, and carelessness from the past year lift off his shoulders, intertwine with the smoke, and disappear. He feels lighter, like he can take on the world. And in this moment, when he sees you staring at him with such adoration, he knows that now is the moment.

No time will ever be the right time, and he’ll never have courage if he doesn’t push himself.

He walks back to you, hands in his pockets. “(Y/N), can I talk to you over there for a minute?”

You nod, and as he guides you a safe distance away, he meets Jaemin’s gaze. The grin of approval is all he needs, and the other man makes sure the friend group is paying attention to him instead of you and Chenle.

“What’s up?” you ask, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He pauses and reaches over to grab your hand. “I just…One of my regrets last year was not having courage, and not being able to ask for the things I want because I wasn’t…ready for them, I guess.”

You nod, urging him to continue.

“You’re my best friend. All of this stuff we’ve been through this summer, I need you to know that’ll never change no matter what. If I didn’t have you in my life, I think I’d be screwed.” He chuckles, the nerves gnawing away at his throat and making his voice shake. “This has been the best month of my life, honestly, but I shouldn’t have gone into something like this without being completely transparent.”

To that, you frown, but wait for him to continue.

He takes a moment to work up the strength to tell you, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His hands shake, and he feels faint, but he knows it’s now or never. He can’t let you leave this place for another year without knowing the truth.

“I…I’m in love with you. And I have been for so long, but I didn’t want to ruin this. When all of this started, I wanted to tell you no because I thought I’d end up getting hurt because of it all. And maybe I still will, but at least now you’ll know the truth.”

He’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t you starting to laugh. His gaze darts back up to yours, and your head is in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “If that’s not what you wanted, we can still be—”

“Zhong Chenle, you are far too dense for your own good.” You beam at him, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss.

He’s in shock at first, but after a second, he’s pulling you as close to him as possible. You swallow his sigh of relief, and when he moves back, he sees the tear streaks down your face.

“Hey, none of that,” he whispers, wiping them away.

“I love you, Chenle,” you tell him. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so fucking long—”

You cut yourself off by connecting your lips to his again, giggles interrupting you every so often.

The rest of the group cheers and yells by the fire, clearly not one of them surprised by this outcome. He leads you back to them, fingers interlocked tightly and a permanent smile etched on his face.

For the rest of the night, he doesn’t let you go. He holds you close, kisses you all over your face, and squeezes you.

He loves you.

He’s in love with you, and you’re not going anywhere.

If this is the cruelest summer he ever has to endure, he’s more than ready for the rest of them.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Secrets of the Darkest Art: How to Make a Horcrux

So I saw many theories regarding how to make a Horcrux, but none of them really made perfect sense to me, so I decided to give it a crack myself as part of my mission to understand Lord Voldemort/Tom Marvolo Riddle (Which I think I did, big post coming about that at some point, this is but another piece of that puzzle of a man)

So this is my reverse engineering of a ritual to create Horcruxes based on book evidence, my knowledge of real-world alchemy, real-world ancient Greek cults and rituals and linguistic analysis.

How to reverse engineering a dark magical ritual:

The first thing, is to define what we knew fore certain:

The name: "Horcrux"

The creator is an Ancient Greek wizard named Harpo the Foul.

A death is required in the making.

A Horcrux holds a piece of the casters soul that anchors them to life so they won't die.

I'll actually start with the third point.

How to split a soul?

Both Dumbledore and Slughorn mention a death being required to tear your soul to make a Horcrux, and that never really sat right with me. It magically doesn't make sense and even the canon examples we have for Horcrux murders make this statment iffy.

We have seven examples of murders used to create Horcruxs (thanks to one Tom Riddle being dramatic):

The Diary - Myrtle Warren - killed by a basilisk. Sure, Tom freed the Basilisk, but it hardly seemed targeted at Myrtle specifically and you can argue he didn't actually kill her (more a manslaughter by negligence). He didn't cast the spell, so how come this tore his soul?

The Ring - his father (Tom Riddle Sr) - Avada Kadevra.

The Cup - Hepzibah Smith - she was poisoned by her house elf. Sure, the elf was under the imperious, but it wasn't a first-degree murder, and like with the Basilisk I find it hard to consider this the same as casting a killing curse. Magically those are very different things.

The Locket - Muggle Tramp - Avada Kadevra

The Diadem - Albanian Peasant - Avada Kadevra

Harry Potter - himself - backfired Avada Kadevra

Nagini - Bertha Jorkins - Avada Kadevra

Now, I used the term "magically different" or "magically make sense" what do I mean by that?

Well, besides the fact I'm going to make a full post about how I see magical theory in the Harry Potter Wizarding World, I'll say it takes a lot after occult philosophies from Alchemy that are very old, Slughorn mentions as much in book 6 and there are a few other references to it. I'm just gonna cover the basics required for this theory.

In Alchemy, everything (people, animals, plants and rocks) are built of three base components:

The Salt - the body - the physical form.

The Sulfur - the soul - the self that holds the divine flame.

The Murcury - the spirit - the life essence that binds the salt and sulfer together.

Now, in Alchemy, the main study is in purifying and combining these different aspects of material. Let's look at a herb, for an example:

If we want to retrieve its salt, we'll dry the herb completely using fire to leave behind a fine light grey ash that represents only the physical form.

If we wanted its mercury we'd distill all liquids from it until we get a purified, clear liquid which in the case of plants would be alcohol (it's why alcohol is referred to as "spirit").

And if we wanted its soul, we would take the remains from the distillation and drying process which would be a kind of oil.

(it can get more complicated with different materials, but this isn't a post about Alchemy)

Now, back to Horcruxs.

So, if we would want to split a soul, Alchemecly, how do we go about it?

Well, we don't. Not really. See a soul can't really be split, as every part of it, every bit of that oil from our random herb represents the entire soul. It's why something like a Horcrux could theoretically work in giving a full life to the diary the way we see in Chamber of Secrets.

Additionally, to work with any material in Alchemy, you are required to purify it first. It means that to get a piece of soul to bind to a diary, you need a pure soul.

Killing someone else won't sever your own soul from the spirit and the body, it's not how this works. Killing someone severs their spirit and therefore splits their body, spirit, and soul. Besides, an Ancient Greek man, like Herpo was, would hardly consider murder as vile as we do today. It wouldn't even cross his mind that any murder (even an indirect one) could harm one's own soul.

No, the only way to "split" a soul is to first sever it from life, disconnecting the bond between soul and body. Essentially, the only way to promise you immortality is to kill yourself.

I know it sounds a little confusing, but, essentially, once the soul is severed from the spirit and body you can split it. Think of the herbal oil, once you have the oil, separate from the rest of the plant parts, you can combine it with new ingredients. You can only work on a specific aspect once you severed it from the other two and as what binds all three together is spirit — life — the only way to do it for a human soul — is death.

But really, how?

Well, here comes the second thing we know about making Horcruxs — that dear Herpo was Ancient Greek.

In Ancient Greece they had multiple different religious cults, some of which were Chthonic cults. Cults that dedicated themselves to death or ditties and heroes associated with death and more importantly — rebirth.

Many of these cults were dedicated to figures like Orpheous, Dyonysus, Persephone, characters in mythology who are known for going through the underworld — through death — and coming back out. These cults were very secretive and not much is known about their practices, but some is.

What is known is that they had rituals were they reenacted a death and then rebirth (usually drinking wine — a water if life, was the representation of rebirth).

This created a very clear idea in my head — to split a soul, you'll have to ritualisticlly, magically kill yourself, severe a peice of your soul and then revive yourself with a water of life — a potion.

This potion is never mentioned, but I believe it exists due to these Chthonic cult rituals and how they were structured. Not only that, but the Greek underworld did have a river known for being incredibly painful to drink, literally made of fire, but being able to bring the dead back - The Phlegethon River.

Note: Lethe River Water (the river in the Greek Underworld that makes the drinker forget) is a canon ingredient in a Forgetfulness Potion.

So what is the dead body for?

Well, congratulations, you killed yourself to retrieve a sliver of your soul and revived yourself so you won't stay dead. You found an item you can keep secure to tie that sliver of soul, too. Now, how would you bind then? After all, the only thing meant to bind a human soul to a body is a human spirit - a human life... you get where I'm going with this.

This is why Tom didn't have to be the one to do the deed. As long as he had a recently deceased corpse to harvest the life from to use to bind his newly split soul and the item of his choice.

It explains why nothing was missing from the bodies. Myrtle and the Riddles were investigated by the Ministry of Magic. One would assume the aurors would've noticed if any corpse was missing a hand due to the killer eating it (as other Horcrux theories suggest).

Not only was nothing missing from the body, the soul was intact. Myrtle became a ghost after death, a ghost is quite literally, just the soul, no body, no spirit.

So the only thing that was taken from Tom's victims was their life, quite literally at that.

Is that all? Can we make a Horcrux now?

Not really. See, when analyzing spells in Harry Potter is their name.

Avada Kadevra - is a reference to an Aramaic healing spell "Abracadabra" pronounced in Aramaic as: "Avra Kadebra" and meaning "I will create as commanded". Merged with the Latin word "cadaver" meaning "corpse" to create -> "I will create dead bodies as commanded"

Or Wingardium Laviosa - is a cross of the English word "wing", the Latin word "arduus" (meaning "high, tall, lofty, steep, proudly elevated"), or "arduum" (meaning "steep place, the steep" and the Latin word "levo" (meaning to "raise, lift up"). So together the spell means -> "lift high up".

So, it's pretty clear spells, their names and incantations are very self-explanatory. So a Horcrux should be no different.

I've seen some attempts at translating the name Horcrux. Unfortunately, these attempts treated the name as Latin, modern Greek, or Old English. Herpo, was Ancient Greek, though, so I went and translated a few possible meanings from Ancient Greek (Classical Greek and Homeric Greek are what I looked at):

ὅρκος (orkus, pronounced "hor-kus") - an oath, the object by which one swears, bound by oath (still used in modern Greek).

κρόκες (crukes, pronounced "cru-kes") - saffron-colored (blood red in Greek), crocus flower. The crocus flower symbolizes both death (the saffron that is the spice) and rebirth (the golden crocus which brings renewal and joy) because Demeter wears them when Persephone returns from the underworld in myth.

So what we have is a spell called "binding oath of death and rebirth" which all around sounds fitting.

There might also be a "made in blood" tucked at the end due to the association of κρόκες with the color of blood.

But what does it matter?

Well, somewhat. As now with this name, I expect the binding between the spirit from the victim, the split soul, and the item would be done in a sort of oath - an orkus.

The association with blood gives us another hint. Blood is the part of the human body most representative of life. Therefore, in Alchemy, your blood is your spirit. So it'll make sense that your own blood would be used in the binding process or more correctly in the process of turning another person's spirit into your own. Making the thread to bind the body (item) and the soul piece your own. As it also refers to just a red firey color, it can indicate the Phlagatton potion I hypothesize should be part of the ritual due to how Chthonic rituals usually went, as the Phlagaton river is made of fire.

So we have a general idea on how to make a Horcrux. You need an item of your choice to bind your soul to. You need a life (spirit) harvested from a human that you transformed into being your own using your blood. And you need a piece of your own soul, which you get by killing yourself and then reviving yourself. And you finish it off by binding it all together with an oath.

But how could you make one accidentally?

So, everyone knows Voldemort succeeded in somehow making a Horcrux accidentally, something a lot of theories I saw don't account for. Becouse whatever process you need to go to to make a Horcrux, Voldemort went through all of it the night he died the first time and marked Harry.

All the steps for my method of making a Horcrux were met that night.

The item in qustion is baby Harry, nothing interesting there.

The soul sliver was split the way it always is — through death. Voldemort dies, killed by his own killing curse and that is what splits his soul.

The life or spirit that then binds his soul to Harry isn't Lily's spirit or James'; it's his own spirit that acts as a binder between Harry and Voldemort’s split soul. Because the spirit was already his, there was no need to transform it by blood.

Step-by-step guide to making Horcruxes:

I'm not going to actually give the full step-by-step least a budging dark lord is looking for this information. I do have notes about exact incantations and even the full recipe and instructions for the Phlagaton potion I'm going to mention. These instructions won't be here since they are more in the realm of speculation and headcanon. This is just the overview of the ritual based on canon information and the occult philosophy I mentioned above.

Step 1 - Life and Blood

Get access to a recently deceased human and extract their Mercury (Spirit or Life Essence).

Submerge the retrieved life essence with your own blood on a new moon (life and vitality). (7 drops of blood will probably do)

Step 2 - Water of Fire

To complete the cycle of death and rebirth you’ll need the Phlegeton Water potion to return you to life at the end of the cycle.

As you brew the potion, it must be brewed in a dark room, preferably underground to remind as much of the underworld as possible.

While brewing the potion one must be in the mindset of the Phlegeton, must be willing to go through agony to achieve eternal life and imbue these thoughts in their potion. (In alchemy, when working, it is believed you imbue your work with your thoughts during the Alchemical process. As an Alchemical process affects both the material being worked and the Alchemist themselves)

Likley Ingrediants:

Saffron spice

Golden crocus flower juice

Pomegranate juice

Step 3 - The Ritual Preparation

Set up your space so none of the components may escape the ritual space and so the ritual will not be interfered with.

Make sure the spirit you retrieved is within reach.

Make sure the item you desire will hold the Horcrux will be within reach as well.

Coax the spirit into the item and prepare it to tie your soul to the next step.

Step 4 - Death and Rebirth

To create a thread of your soul to tie to the ritual, you must die figuratively. Go through death to return stronger from the underworld.

Once you feel like death has reached you and your soul is separated you should heal your soul and finish the cycle, bringing you out of death and back to life by drinking the Phlegeton potion.

After the pain subsides you will feel healthier than before, stronger than before, and you’ll have an additional thread of sulfur (soul) in your chest to be pulled out and placed into the Horcrux.

The split-off soul should, on its own, try to search for life and a body to be bound to. If it doesn't, coax it out yourself and bind it to the Horcrux with the spirit you made in step 1.

Step 5 - Oath of Life

The connection between the body (the item), soul, and spirit is still unstable, if most likely strong enough to hold.

Swear the oath of life to finalise the bound between you, the Horcrux, and the soul thread together to ward off death.

I'll end with this note I made regarding Horcruxes when I started working on this theory:

I don't know what all goes into the process of making a Horcrux but I don't believe a person who truly likes themselves and doesn't want to inflict pain on themselves could make a Horcrux. Tearing up your soul is an act of arrogance above nature, sure, thinking you deserve to change the laws of the world and be the exception is part of it, but it's also an act of self-hatred. You need to hate yourself enough to be willing to kill yourself, hurt yourself, and tear yourself up in the most unnatural ways — hence why so few can do so, let alone more than once.

And Tom Riddle does seem to have that exact mix of arrogance, spite, and low self-esteem that would allow it.

[cheesus-doodles]

Wish

Reincarnation AU! Yandere Gojo

Masterlist | Reincarnation AU Masterlist

found myself in kind of a slump just trying to write anything, please have this in the meantime - will also be trying to answer some asks soon while i work on the longer pieces

‎‎‎

tw: violence against reader, mentions of torture, blood, dead dove do not eat

I'll grant any wish you have. That deceptively loving coo was something you had heard countless times before, combined with a gentle comb of his hand through your locks.

Sure, Gojo, would come your predicable reply, complete with a roll of your eyes, before you go back to whatever it was you did for work.

Good looks, money, power - Gojo Satoru always had had the world at his fingertips. And it would have all been yours, everything mortal possession he owned. He hadn't even asked for much in return, just your utter and completely loyalty and obedience to him. In exchange for the sun and moon, any wish that you had granted at the drop of a hat, that much seemed like a rather paltry price to pay, Gojo would think.

Yet here he was, the sorcerer mused, as he drove another nail straight into your shin almost absentmindedly, the spurt of blood that came rocketing out a tantalising shade of crimson. Your shaky gaze shot up to meet his instantly, pupils completely constricted as tears were forced from the corners of painful red eyes; your cries and whimpers had long died away despite your current obvious suffering, raw throat having lost its ability to produce any sound louder than a grunt.

Leaning over to peer down at you with those infinite crystal eyes, Gojo didn't seem the slightest bit affected by your twisted expression. "See anything yet?" The question was followed by a giggle, the look on your face already telling the man everything he needed to know. Despite your understandable fear of him, you still showed no sign of recognition of the presence of curses all around you, and that was unacceptable.

He did need to make absolute sure that you had complete belief in souls that you could reincarnate back as a curse after all, and there was no way better way than to let you see one for yourself. Some real-life ghouls would definitely make quick work of turning a disbeliever into a believer.

‎‎‎

The night outside was quiet, the ominous heavy clouds that threatened to spill at any given moment a perfect reflection of your current grim predicament. Picking up another nail, Gojo made sure to show it to you before he selected a new spot for his gruesome art, this time driving it into the top of your arm with a whistle.

He didn't want to do this, the white-haired man assured himself, that much he would swear to anyone that would care long enough to listen. Out of all the souls that roamed this mortal plane, you were the last one that he wanted to hurt, let alone kill. Not his beloved darling, his soulmate. But you left him no choice. He simply couldn't let you go, not with the way you lived in his head rent free, haunting his every thought.

Maybe, perhaps if you had been a sorcerer in this life, things would have turned out differently. You would have looked up to him as the world's most powerful sorcerer, would have been taken in by his abilities and the weighty clan name attached.

But that was fine.

"Don't worry," the man patted your mangy hair, gently rubbing two matted locks of hair apart between his fingers. "Everything'll be fine."

It'll hurt for now, that much was certain, but your pain and suffering wouldn't be for naught. Being on death's door was one way for normals to see curses, and he would make sure that your agony would be over quickly.

Taking a glance up at the starry sky that blanketed the empty skyline, Gojo breathed, the fresh air a welcome change from the iron scent of stale blood that clad his clothes. You only ever made a single teasing wish of being immortal to him before, over a cup of coffee at a cafe, before you laughed it off - and you had never made another wish after that. But Gojo was benevolent.

Once your soul was reincarnated as a curse, he was sure he could find some old tool in the depths of his clan's treasuries to force you back into your old body and grant your wish. Plus, it would be so much easier to bind you to him when you weren't quite human, and you could spend the eternity of your next life with him.

Win-win.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Seven Minutes

Y/N’s crush on her boss is obvious to everyone, including his co-stars, leading the two into some sticky situations.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

2.4k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, nudity, flirting, praise

An: Thank you so much for the requests!! I really love the Assistant!Au and would love to continue it, specifically with Bam! I would love to see how he would mess with and push around our lovely assistant Y/N XD Anyways, keep sending those requests and let me know what you think!

Clutching your little brown clipboard, you were nearly shaking as you gazed up at the piece of paper sloppily scotch taped to the white trailer door. One would’ve thought that the first name on the billing would be treated with a little more prestige. You had no idea how you got the job, really. Horribly under qualified, virtually zero experience- a real combination for success. I mean, before today, you’d never stepped foot on a movie set, and here you were, Y/N: assistant to the stars. More than that, according to what Paramount told you, you would be an assistant to America’s favorite hot lunatic: Johnny Knoxville. You hadn’t seen a thing he was in, but from what you gathered, teenagers thought of him as the modern PT Barnum, while the churchgoing growd called him the devil incarnate, and you were going to be working under him. Timidly reaching out, you knocked a few times on the trailer to no answer. “Hey, uh- Johnny! Jeff needs you on set soon!” After maybe thirty seconds of waiting and no answer, you decided to try the handle, assuming he was too busy doing whatever movie stars do and just couldn’t hear you.

Boy, did you get an eyeful. There, standing in that silent trailer with his clothes draped over a chair, was the man himself, naked as a jaybird and without a care in the world that you saw him. He was all tanned muscle, Hollywood man meat. You, on the other hand, felt heat rush to your cheeks as your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. Stuttering out an apology, you turned away, “Oh! Oh my god, I am-“ Completely unphased, Johnny continued getting dressed, talking to you like he was talking about something as simple as taking out the trash. “Hold on a sec. Just gotta get some clothes on…” Does this happen often with movie stars, or only to him? It had to, you thought, based on how relaxed he was to be naked in front of a total stranger. Is he naked in front of strangers often? All you could do was face the wall of the trailer as your mind went wild, the heat flooding in from outside through the still open door doing nothing to aid the sweat you were already breaking. Your train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when you heard the metallic jingling of Johnny doing up his belt behind you, bringing to mind a flood of thoughts that you weren't exactly proud of. Still, you couldn’t help the urge to sneak another look at his half clothed body but you quickly turned back.

As sneaky as you thought you were being, Johnny noticed your little glance and, more than that, he didn’t seem to mind. Cracking a smirk at the events that were unfolding in front of him, he couldn’t help but want to tease this sweet little assistant of his a bit more. You didn’t even know he was dressed until you felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around, nearly nose to nose with him while Johnny was still buttoning up his shirt with one hand, sporting that knowing, crooked smile. God, you practically fainted when he spoke, his voice barely above a murmur, “You needed somethin’?” Well yes, there was something you needed, but you weren't going to say that sort of thing out loud, much less to your boss on your first day. Too flustered to articulate yourself, you gestured for him to take a couple steps back, which he complied with, before you attempted to compose yourself, “U- uh…Jeff, he- uh, he asked me to get you for that- that Toro Totter stunt today…”

Johnny loved that you remembered his coffee order, even though that was a part of your job. Not that it was hard to remember- black coffee with two sugars. Every morning when you met up with him on set, you’d tell him good morning when you handed him the steaming hot styrofoam cup, and Johnny would take it from you with a smile that was still tired from partying the night before. He’d take a long sip and get this charmed look on his face and make some joke about how he couldn't believe that you remembered his order. As you worked with him longer and you started growing closer, he would tack on an appreciative, “Atta’ girl!” and reach out to rub your back or ruffle your hair. All the guys on set would whisper and joke about the two of you, especially Bam, who no matter how many times it was explained to him, still couldn’t get why Knoxville hadn’t ‘tapped that’. You didn’t care to admit how much you liked when Johnny treated you like that- all affectionately. Maybe you were nervous about working with a big movie star and really needed some approval to keep you going. On the other hand, you had been busting your ass for the past month making sure everything on set went as smoothly as possible, so it could also be that you felt like you needed the recognition. But most likely, you just liked hearing those words come from Johnny’s mouth.

So that’s why you went up to see him in his motel room. Well, that and he was half an hour late and Jeff wanted you to find out why the hell he hadn’t shown up on set. Carrying the well creased list of stunts for the day in your pocket, you walked through the dingy hallways of the cheap place the cast was set up at, carefully stepping over where Steve-O was passed out, drooling face down on the carpet. After finding Johnny’s door, you knocked on the cheap plywood and it swung open without resistance. Wondering what was with this guy and leaving doors open, you timidly called out into the room, “Uh, is everything alright, Joh-?“ Well, that explains why he hadn’t shown up- he wasn’t even out of bed. Shifting slightly at your noise, Johnny sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head as the sheets that covered his torso slid down to pool at his hips. “M’fine…god, just- just c'mere.” As he waved you over, patting the side of the bed for you to sit down, you couldn’t help but stare at him now that you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body, and especially since you had more time to look him over. The cheap, frameless bed creaked under you as you sat down next to him on top of the sheets, fiddling with your hands. Johnny, who saw the paper sticking out from the front pocket of your jeans, snaked an arm past your hips nonchalantly to grab it, unfolding it with his muscular arm still around you.

He looked over the list, blinking groggily and quietly commenting about some stunts they should shuffle around to make the day run smoother or how he would change some setups. There was no way in hell you would be able to pay attention to anything that was coming out of his mouth. God, you were awful. It was like the second you got within five feet of him, your brain started slipping out of your ears. Still dazed, you were shaken out of your trance when Johnny wordlessly grabbed the coffee from your hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink. The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he swallowed deeply, his voice rough as he slid his arm up to squeeze your shoulder affectionately with a warm smile, “That’s my girl.”

He played you like a fiddle, goddamn it, and you were helpless to do anything about it. He just really got a kick out of messing with you, batting you around like the way a cat plays with its food before it eats it. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the cast who, although you had mostly ignored their comments and jeering, found your nervous reactions even more entertaining than Johnny did. They’d go out of their way to get you and him into situations where you would be forced to be in close proximity, but because of how often they pulled these pranks and your inexperience working on set, you couldn’t always tell the difference between when you were really needed for something or when they were trying to mess with you, so you naively complied with their requests every time. That’s how you got into situations like this.

“Hey, Y/N!” Steve called to you in passing on set one day, “Can’y grab a couple’a those cowboy hats from wardrobe?” Usually you only tended to what Johnny asked you to do, but since it was a pretty innocuous request, and you had nothing to do, you didn’t give it a second thought as you made your way to the costume department. It wasn't so much of a department as it was a small closet. In the past, the guys made jokes about getting you all dressed up in some skimpy outfit to sit in the background of a stunt on the basis that they really needed some sex appeal in the new movie, so you took a few peeks in there out of curiosity. This is all to say that you knew about it. What you didn’t know, however, was that at the same time Steve was sending you off, Chris was asking the same question to Johnny. See, this was a well coordinated attack, and if there was only one thing these bumbling idiots could coordinate together to do, it was fucking with people.

As soon as you hurriedly stumbled into the dark closet, you bumped face first into something warm which you quickly realized was a person, leaving you a little dazed before the door loudly slammed shut behind you, making you jump a little. The only noise you heard was snickering, courtesy of Bam, who had hidden barely out of sight when you walked in and jammed a chair under the handle of the door. There was only one person you would end up in there with, “Oh, come on, guys!” The familiar southern drawl in his voice made your stomach jump as you recognized Johnny who, while he was trying not to make his annoyance apparent, leaned around you to knock on the door as he yelled to the guys on the other side, “I gotta be on set in five- Jeff’s gonna kill me!” Still, nothing but snickers. You began to realize exactly how close your body was to his- Johnny didn’t even seem to notice nor care that your face was nearly buried in his chest, but you were so freaked out that you could bring your mouth to move or make any noise. It wasn’t until he groaned, leaning back to sit on a costume trunk in front of you that you took a breath.

“Well, we might be here a while…” Johnny mused, and while you couldn’t see it, you definitely heard the smile in his voice as he continued, “Y’know this kinda reminds me a lot of that game- seven minutes in heaven?” Of course you knew what he was talking about, and you would be an idiot to pass this kind of thing up. Unfortunately, under these conditions, you kind of became one. “I, uh- I’ve never played that- that game before…” Well, it wasn't a lie- you really hadn’t, but you knew what he meant. Your response was a half hearted stammer, your heart pounding so hard that you half expected it to thrum out of your chest, cartoon style, and you were sure he could feel it. You were aware he was getting a kick out of your nervousness, but you weren't exactly sure how to feel about that. Johnny’s voice slipped into that low, teasing register as he met your eyes, leaning towards you. “I could always teach you.” You practically let out a squeak at his suggestion. Oh god, it’s happening. He wanted to kiss you, didn’t he? Your brain struggled to form words, but luckily Johnny broke the tension before you dropped dead from the little game he was playing with you. Flashing a playful smile, he chuckled reassuringly, “Ah, I’m just messin’ with ya.”

There was something warm, something comforting and infectious that followed Johnny around wherever he went- a product of his charisma, surely, that just put everyone at ease. Well, everyone except you, but even now that was starting to change. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve gotta little crush on me, Y/N.” You thanked the darkness for giving you an excuse not to look him in the eyes, because otherwise he’d find it cute and probably do that thing they do in romance movies- where the guy tilts the girl’s chin up a little, and if he did that then you would be as good as a puddle on the ground. “O-oh, really?” Part of you was tempted to ask if it was that obvious, but you were unfortunately not that bold. “Mmhm. And lucky for me too, cause I was itchin’ to get an opportunity to ask you about gettin’ drinks sometime! Guess that makes my job a little easier, right?” Trying to be slick, Johnny put his arm on the door behind you and leaned, assuming it was still locked. However, against all assumptions, the door of the closet flew open, and as you were still startled from how he just so nonchalantly asked you out, your stiff body tumbled backward, landing flat on your behind. While you were talking, Bam apparently got bored when the ‘action’ hadn’t started, so he got up and left, taking the chair with him. Panicking and confused, the first thing Johnny did was lean down, giving you his hand, “Oh shit, Y/N! You alright?” In any other situation, the genuine concern in his voice and the feeling of his large, warm hand wrapping around yours protectively would be enough to get you weak at the knees, but your mind was elsewhere. Hell, you didn’t even care about how sore you felt as you stumbled to stand, tripping over your own words, “I’m fine, yeah! A, uh- a date! Drinks- that would be great!”

[mumms-the-word]

The Shadow Curse Events

If you haven’t already, please enjoy my unnecessarily long totally not me avoiding writing an actual dissertation irl thorough deep dives into Ketheric Thorm and the Shadow Curse!

They are…well, very long, but I wanted to incorporate in-game texts and conversations to give an overall “lore-finding” feel to each post as I was working my way through theories and ideas about how these events unfolded in more or less chronological order.

Each post is written with an attempt to combine elements of in-game books, letters, and conversations with my reasonable(?) conjectures about how things might have happened and an occasional foray into stylistic nonfiction-style writing (which, you know, is interesting when you’re writing about things that didn't actually happen in real life). Basically this started as something I thought was cool and ended with me having, perhaps, a bit too much fun in the nerdiest possible way.

Maybe you’re into that and maybe not. But if you are, then welcome! Please enjoy these deep dives, all of which are linked below c:

Shadow Curse Events Part 1

Ketheric, Selûne, Shar, and Aylin

This first part covers Ketheric's descent from Selûnite devotee to Sharran general following the death of his daughter Isobel. Not only does it touch on him building and training a Sharran army, it also goes over the Selûnite resistance building against him, including one desperate mason named Morfred who makes a deal with a certain devil.

---

Shadow Curse Events Part 2

Harpers, druids, and the battle against Ketheric

The second post is all about the Harper/Druid war waged against Ketheric and the days involved in the battle itself. I present this idea that the Harpers and druids sieged Reithwin for several days without attacking and then launched a three-day battle against Ketheric. But a lot of this is conjecture since I'm trying to piece together a bunch of differing accounts about the actual days devoted to fighting and surviving the brief war between the two armies.

---

Shadow Curse Events Part 3

The first 40 days

The final post is a kind of walkthrough of the first 40 days of the shadow curse from the moment Ketheric dies to about 40 days later. I chose 40 only because it's vaguely symbolic in various cultures, but also because one diary I used to construct the timeline here ends on day 35, and that felt like a weird number to end on too, so...I added a few days. Anyway, this might be the most experimental of the posts, but it was fun(?) to try and place myself in these past events to imagine how the landscape changed into what we see 100+ years later walking into this area with our Tavs and companions.

---

In the end, these posts were just for fun and are not meant to try and convince anybody that my theories are absolutely 100% the way things happened. What I find interesting about this little deep dive journey is that it mimics trying to piece together actual history too. Everyone will have a different account or perspective on historical events, so trying to stitch together a narrative 100+ years later becomes an exercise in drawing sensible conclusions and admitting you can't fill all the gaps.

I could very well be wrong in my theories, and someone else could come up with a way better logical conclusion than I did. That's awesome! Maybe these posts will help others come up with cool theories too.

But anyway. Enjoy my long-winded ramblings about fictional events in a video game that I have put way too many hours into :)

[petew21-blog]

Hulky Captain Thor

(more of a fanfic, not too erotic, transformation)

Meet & Greet your heroes and win a prize!

You were so excited to be able to go to that event. Your mom wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go, but gave you an ultimátum. If you would apply for the art contest and win, she wouldn't stop you.

Guess what. You won. Along with 50 other people. The contest had one rule to follow. It had to be a combination of all the Avengers. And you actually thought your sculpture made up of the symbol of those heroes had a chance to win.

You were nervous. You were standing in the Avengers tower. The room was full of people waiting for their favourite heroes. Some were actually angry because they found out that only Captain America, Hulk and Thor would arrive. The rest were on a secret mission. These three probably weren't allowed because of their destructive powers. Or to make sure everyone was safe. Who knows

They entered the room. Fans cheered. You did too. They all pushed more closer to the stage to get a closer view.

Dr. Banner was holding an envelope with the winner. You thought that Captain America was probably suppose to read it out loud. But Thor rushed in and took it out of Banner's hands. Captain America looked at Thor like a parent scolding him. But Thor proceeded

Thor:"Ok, hi everybody. We are here today to announce a winner of this art show. The winner gets to take a photo with the three of us and wins a check with a lot of money. And their statue will be displayed here in the tower"

They wheeled in the winning art piece covered to not spoil to everyone who won or not. But the size could already tell a lot. Some people started actually crying

Thor:"And the winner is... Oh... I can't read that. Well the owner of this statue!!!" he pulled of the white sheet and there it was. It was your statue.

You held up your hand and heard yourself scream:"That's mine!" You were now lead to the front and asked about your name just to confirm.

Steve:"All right everybody. Don't be sad now. We still got a great programme ahead and we wouldn't want you to miss it. Now please go and enjoy the delicious bufet in the hall below this room

The fans left the room. Only you were now here with the three Avengers and some guards

You couldn't believe your eyes. There they were. Right in front of you. Ready to take a photo with you

"Am I dreaming?"

Dr Banner:"No. This is real, kid. And we're just only three normal people. Only I had a massive gamma radiation exposure, Steve here had the super soldier serum injected and Thor is a god from Asfard"

Steve:"Bruce, don't make him more stressed"

Bruce:"Sorry. No need to worry, kid. We may not be normal but we won't hurt you"

A voice on the helipad screamed:"I might" a wave of energy swept all of you on the floor. You heard shots fired from the guard. You looked up and saw someone. A villain who you didn't know. He stopped the bullets fired at him with some energy control powers, absorbing the kinetic energy. And then he fired that energy back at them. Killing them all instantly

Thor:"Steve, protect the kid" thor threw his hammer, but the villain was able to change slightly the trajectory of Mjolnir absorbing just a tiny bit of that energy. That energy now didn't push Thor away, but pulled him closer. The villain now had him in his grip holding him by the neck, choking him.

Hulk was allready in his form rushing to them. The villain stopped his movement. It looked like it cost him a great deal of concentration to not let him go

Villain:"Don't you superheroes never learn?"

Thor:"What do you want?"

Steve asked you if you were OK and told you to hide. He then ran out the side to probably surprise the villain

Villain:"Finally someone asked. I'll just take your powers" he finished the sentence and as he did a stream of light left Thor's body and poured into the villain. He looked at Thor with a smile. He let go of him and suddenly Mjolnir flew close to him but not directly into his hand. "Well this is gonna be handy. Look Thor, even your hammer doesn't recognise you" Thor was on the ground, choking. When suddenly Mjolnir flew right at Thor knocking him out.

Steve's shield swiftly flew through the air punching the villain who did not expect that. He had to let go of Hulk, so he started moving again towards the villain

Hulk took the villain and threw him off the building

Steve:"Hulk no. He has Thor's powers now"

We couldn't see him for a second, but then he entered the scene attached with the energy powers to Mjolnir. He probably isn't worthy of the hammer, but the hammer is confused about his powers

Villain:"Rude" the villain noticed you hiding in the back. "We got a stalker among us" and then Mjolnir was flying towards you. Captain got close to you to push you out of the way, while being hit by Mjolnir at the same time.

Hulk rushed at the villain again. He was stopped a few inches in front of him. Not being able to move.

Villain:"All this energy stored inside of you. You're the one I need" he had his hand on Hulk's head. The same light that went from Thor was coming out of Hulk now, but it was a green light. But this time both of them were radiating. The villain looked like this time the energy was way too much for him to withstand.

Captain America got in front of you. He probably expected all the radiation that might be released to be absorbed through him and not you

Then, what could be described like an imploding star, the last rays of light came from Hulk, entering the villain and all of them were poured out in one single beam towards Captain America. He was holding it with his shield to protect himself and to protect you. But the shield couldn't hold that power anymore and moved. The second wave hit Captain America. He was holding on for very long, standing in one place, but move slightly to the side after absorbing way too much energy.

And then you were hit.

You woke up in a hospital. You opened your eyes and saw your mom on one side of the bed. Then on the other side there were all three of them. Hulk, Captain America and Thor. Only Thor was now dressed in normal clothes and Dr. Banner looked happier then ever. Probably not because you woke up

"What happened?" you asked

Steve:"You were hit by the energy waves form that villain. We're glad you're ok"

You:"What happened to him?"

Dr. Banner:"He couldn't withstand the volume of energy and simply evaporated."

You:"And what about your powers? Did you get them back?"

Thor looked really angry right now. He didn't have his Mjolnir with him

Steve:"Unfortunately Thor is powerless for now and so is Hulk"

Dr. Banner:"I'm kind of happy. For the first time since the exposure I feel like I don't have to control myself"

You:"And you? Do you still have your powers?"

Steve:"Yeah I still got mine, but I had to be in the hospital for a while too. Look, kid. We don't know what happened to you. We have to observe you for a couple of days."

A week later you were sent home

You woke up extremely sweaty. You felt different. Better actually. You got up. "Why does everything seem so small?"

You looked down. You were now much taller then before and then you noticed your torso underneath your shirt. You wanted to slowly take it off, but instead your ripped it off yourself. Revealing a muscular chest

You:"Holy shit! I'm ripped! And hairy. What?" You aproached the mirror. Your body looked like it had a puberty boost it seemed to lack before.

Then you realised. "I absorbed a bit of Captain America's powers. No freaking way. I'm a super soldier!"

And then you noticed the hair. It seemed longer. And lighter. Maybe a side effect

You started doing poses. You never expected to be so ripped. Ever. Now you have the body like Captain America. Tall, ripped, hot and mature

You looked down below your waistline:"Yep, everything is bigger"

You continued in doing poses, pretending to be another hero joining the Avengers. Your biceps were massive. Along with the rest of your figure. You are so tall now. As you inspected the body, you were curious to see if EVERYTHING changed. You pulled those pants down. "Wooow. I am definitely a super soldier now. Damn. How will someone be able to handle having inside? And it's not even hard"

You noticed your face features changed from your normal ones. And then you saw those Captain America eyes. You were changing into Steve's copy

"Yep. I have to go to the Avengers tower"

You arrived to the building going to the reception. Your clothes didn't fit you anymore. So you had to take your dad's. You noticed your reflection in the mirror behind the receptionist. A muscular guy looking like Steve Rogers. Your face was smooth before you left the house. Now a light beard was starting to appear. You shrugged it off and approached the receptionist.

"Hi. I need to see the Avengers"

Receptionist:"What is the purpose of your visit?"

You:"Well over a week ago I won the Art contest to meet the Avengers"

Receptionist:"Right. You mean the contest for high school students? Sure, mister. Aren't you a bit too old for entering that contest?"

"Yeah. I know I don't look like it, but I absorbed Steve Rogers powers and now I'm starting to look like him. I know I look around 40, but I'm 18. And I know you don't want any trouble with Tony Stark so you'll call him, please?"

"I'll let you pass through and call them"

You:"You would be very kind" You lifted headed to the elevator.

It took you up to the top floor

Bht when the door opened Tony Stark was there ready in his suit. Steve Rogers behind him

You:"I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm the kid from the art contest. But I turned into Steve Rogers kinda-copy"

Tony:"Is there a super soldier serum stand somewhere or is this very unlikely to happen?"

Steve:"Is that you, kid?"

You:"Yes, captain. I woke up like this today."

Steve:"You must have absorbed some of our powers. You look a lot like me. Not a perfect copy, but yeah"

You:"Yeah. I didn't do anything while this... but I must say sir You have some fine"

Steve:"Let's not go to that subject"

Behind you a SHIELD team appeared

You:"What is this?"

Tony:"We don't know you and we don't know if you'll be dangerous. We need to be sure and send you to a place where they'll make sure you don't hurt anyone"

Steve:"Tony, we didn't agree on this"

You:"I'm not going anywhere" you felt a wave of rage sweeping over you"

No way you were gonna be locked up somewhere. You turned around and started beating the soldiers. They were flying in the air. Your reflexes were so tightened right now. And your endurance. Iron Man's suit fired at you. You avoided the blow and hid behind the wall. You noticed Mjolnir sitting on the ground. Thor probably doesn't have his powers too and no one can lift it now.

You had a crazy idea. You ran out of your hiding toward Mjolnir. Steve was shouting at you, while Iron Man's suit shot stuff that tried to trap you. Some goo got on your shoes and was sticking to the ground. You were close to Mjolnir, you could almost touch it. But your legs were trapped in the goo now.

You could feel the power from Mjolnir radiating. It was at your fingertips.

And it moved. You were now holding Mjolnir

You could feel changes in your body. The previously short beard was now growing. And so were the hair that turned more blonde now.

You could feel your body becoming larger. Probably the combination of Captain America and Thor's muscle phrames.

Your clothes started to change as well

And the lightings. You could feel them inside of you

Mjolnir felt the pressence of both powers inside of you. And it transformed you

You broke the goo at your feet and looked angry at Tony

Tony:"We really need you to come with us now"

You:"No. I said I'm not going anywhere" you got up and headed straight to the helipad. You had to hope that you can manage Thor's flying with Mjolnir on first try

Steve shouted at you while you were running:"Kid! Take this. Return it later" and threw you his shield. That surprised you, but you took it and ran of the ledge of the helipad

Tony:"Why the hell would you give him your vibranium shield"

Steve:"He's me and Thor now combined. The kid is gonna need it. And you saw that Mjolnir accepted him. He's worthy. So hopefully I did a good thing"

Tony:"Jarvis, contact Nick Fury. We got a big problem"

You were now on the edge of New York near a forest. What was happening to you? Are you gonna keep changing? Does this ever stop?

Then a small gang approached you. "Yo, is this some kind of a lame costume for that stupid Comic con?"

You:"Stay out of my way"

Leader:"No one talks to me like that. Motherfucker"

A shot fired from a gun he pulled very fast. You thought it was Captain's or Thor's powers, but you looked at the spot where he fired. It was green.

Rage builded up in you. But this time. You couldn't contain it

5 minutes later

You sat on the bloody ground. You weren't like Hulk. Hulk turns into a being that can't be controled by Banner. You knew exactly what you were doing

You cried. You just killed 5 human beings

Someone came close to you

"Tears are not gonna bring them back to life, kid"

You:"Leave"

The man:"Look. I know you didn't want that before, but we can help you"

You:"You can reverse this?"

The man:"No, I can help you how to use this power for good." You looked up and saw Nick Fury, all in black.

The man next to you woke up. For a human he was massive. But a human couldn't handle you now with all the final transformations that took place after the encounter with Nick Fury.

Thank god ykur guy wasn't from Earth. Atleast you had someone to enjoy this body with. He really likes riding your green shaft.

He hugged you and put his hand on your chest:"Morning big guy"

Coms:"Hulky Captain Thor? We need you in action again"

You:"On it. Prepare my suit"

You to the guy:"Sorry, gotta go and Smash some rebels"

The guy smiled and threw of the sheets revealing his massive ass. "Maybe wanna Smash this thing first?"

You:"They can wait. This ass won't"

Message from Inbox

I’d love to transform into a mix of Captain America, the hulk and Thor. Would you like to help your hulky Captain Thor out?

Sorry for it being so long. I kinda wanted the origin to feel believable but made it too long. Also had a bit of trouble with photos.

Hope you like it

[whisperinggbreeze]

"Welcome back, San Lang," Xie Lian said, letting go of the vine he had been tugging at. Hua Cheng frowned; his hands were visibly scraped and bleeding. "I didn't think you'd really come. You didn't have to."

"I was curious about this god of yours," Hua Cheng replied, startled at the name for a second. He supposed he never really visited the mortals he gave a fake name to more than once, so he wasn't expecting to hear the name San Lang again.

Hua Cheng thought he caught a brief flash of white across the doorway before Xie Lian stepped back outside, extending a hand to invite Hua Cheng into the shrine.

"You said you have some questions for me? As shrine master, I should be able to answer them."

"Yes," Hua Cheng said, following him inside. "Your god, after he was banished, he didn't disappear, did he?"

---

He saw a flower that looked oddly familiar— although he couldn't place it— and was slightly translucent, almost like a spirit. He reached out to touch one of its petals lightly, and found he could feel it despite its appearance.

Glancing around, he found that the flower gave off a soft, faint glow. He took it in properly; it was the most beautiful flower he'd ever seen. Its petals were delicate, and although he was sure he'd never seen anything like it before, it still inexplicably reminded him of something.

(...But from how long ago? Was he missing another piece of his past, or was he just too old to remember something like this?)

---

some excerpts from chapter 3 of my god hc/calamity xl fic! I am very close to my goal of finishing chapter 3 so I can publish the story on ao3; it's been giving me a bit of trouble because I've had writer's block and this chapter is probably longer than all the other ones combined, but it's finally almost finished!

a note to people who may have been following the snippets of the story I have been posting: everything is subject to change in editing. in fact, I'm pretty sure every single excerpt I've posted here has been changed pretty heavily, with the chapter 2 extract being nearly completely rehauled because I didn't like it (...and it had some accidental plotholes).

anyways, I am very excited to publish this because it'll be my first published fic in quite a long time— and it will be my first tgcf fic! i hope everyone enjoys it, and even if you don't end up reading the real thing, I hope you've enjoyed the extracts so far <3

[thewillofdeez]

Talking to my husband about One Piece theories (as you do in a Healthy Adult Relationship ©). He said Mihawk vs Sengoku would be an interesting showdown. We've only seen the extent of Sengoku's powers once at Marineford, and that may or may not be the full picture. But that got me thinking.

Mihawk currently has no named attacks, whereas even the most powerful pirates we've seen have named attacks. The implications here are either 1) Mihawk simply DGAF about doing things the way others do (which tracks and I love that for him), or 2) all the Mihawk attacks we've seen thus far are such a teeny tiny fraction of his power that they're not even worth naming.

So let's say the second one is accurate. What level of power does Mihawk have to display in order for it to warrant a named attack? We've seen this bad bitch cut a damn ship in half but also scale his power low enough to cut Zoro without literally slicing him in two. The control he has over his power is insane.

We've seen what Zoro can do. We've watched him level up so far from when we met him. But we don't really see Mihawk in action very much. What displays of power we've seen are just a tiny fraction of what he's capable of because we simply haven't seen him have a real need to fully display his power. This is a guy who does just what he wants to do as much as possible, and only does anything else begrudgingly. We saw him at Baratie facing off against this 19 year old moron who thought he was ready to take on the World's Strongest Swordsman, and wasn't. We saw him at Marineford, but let's be honest, he had no reason to do more than the bare minimum. He doesn't care about the World Government, he probably doesn't care about the conflict between them and Whitebeard. He shows up, puts on a show, and peaces out so he can keep living his relatively quiet life. The World Government can say "you could have done more!" all they want, but at the end of the day, he did what he was required to do, and no more.

It's vital to Zoro's character not just that we see him defeat Mihawk, but that we fully understand how strong Mihawk is so that we can understand just how strong Zoro has to be to defeat him.

So, how can Oda do this? How can he possibly show how very strong this untouchable character is in a way where we can appreciate it before his inevitable downfall? Because I feel like if we see him give his first real attack in the middle of his final duel with Zoro, it's not gonna hit as hard. It'll be like "Oh, that was cool, aaaaaaaand he's dead now."

Mihawk not only needs but deserves a scene independent of his final fight with Zoro where he can truly show off what he can do. I want to see this man EXHAUSTED. I want to see something that completely takes it out of him, that shows us he's not untouchable, that it's possible to wear him down, that beneath his strength he's just a guy who gets tired and winded with the right amount of exertion just like the rest of us. Mihawk was one of the OG antagonists of One Piece, he deserves his own version of Galaxy Impact or Divine Departure.

Okay, so hear me out. Outside of his fight with Zoro, what could Mihawk possibly do to display the true extent of his power? What is a feat so massive that it would be exceptional for even a man of his power?

Perhaps it would be something that avenges a man who was (per SBS) betrayed by a Marine, an agent of the World Government. Something so impossible and insane it was only alluded to in a relatively minor character.

So....what if Oars the Continent-Puller created the Red Line 800-900 years ago, and Mihawk will become the Continent Destroyer by taking it down, destroying Marie Geoise and at least symbolically everything the World Government represents? And furthermore, what if he and Zoro do this together? We've seen them both cut enormous things..... combined, at their full power, what if they just slice a 10k meter wall that encircles the globe to bits? What if they create the All Blue?

This is a mishmash of various theories, but tbh..... I'm happy to give Oda an enormous amount of leeway. He's the artist here and I have my wants and hopes and ideas, but there is very little in One Piece that I think could truly and deeply disappoint me because things not going the way I want /= things are bad. I'm just along for the ride, ya know?

But this is a must-have. Oda has been setting this up for more than 20 years now. This rivalry between Mihawk and Zoro needs to be concluded in a way that does both characters justice. And this would be a pretty cool one.

[x-on-the-calendar-business]

ryan ross iceberg explained (masterpost and tier 1)

tier 2, tier 3, tier 4, tier 5, tier 6, tier 7, tier 8

if somehow you have no idea how icebergs work/what they are, then i’ll give a tldr: it comes from the saying “it’s just the tip of the iceberg,” so basically, the entries at the top of the iceberg are the stuff the average person would know, and as you go deeper, the content becomes more obscure. for example, if you’re a more casual panic! fan, then a lot of the entries in the sky tier are more likely to be things you would know, whereas you’re probably only going to know the stuff at the very bottom if you’re an insane person (me).

i got most of the entries from this iceberg from a couple of others that i found on twitter, here and here [i]. i combined them, shifted some stuff around, and added some things to make this one. of course, a special thanks to the twitter users areyouIlooking and checkyesjuul for making the ones i used to create this one.

i also want to give a special shoutout to the tumblr blogs @pathetic-at-the-disco and @prettyoddfever because i got so much info from them for this iceberg and they are just incredible sources of information for panic! fans.

finally, i'm really hoping everything on this iceberg is correct; of course, i did my research and there was a lot of it i already knew. however, i was not actually there for presplit panic! so i can't speak off of firsthand accounts for a lot of things. with that being said, if something is wrong, or if there is something you think should be added, please feel free to let me know, and i will go back and edit the post.

enough introduction, let’s get started.

the sky (tier 1):

guitarist of panic!:

what he is most well known for. ryan was the original guitarist of panic! and one of the true founding members. he departed the band in 2009 with former bassist jon walker, which we’ll come back to later.

rosevest:

this refers to an iconic piece of clothing that ryan wore while they were touring their debut album, a fever you can’t sweat out. he wears it in live in denver as well.

(side note: the post i got this pic from is a very interesting look at their outfits from that tour so i would recommend checking it out here!) [ii]

good at makeup:

during the fever era, ryan was really well known for doing makeup looks, some elaborate. i’m inserting some examples here, but i’m also going to link a post that showcases more pics of the makeup looks he did. there are more that he did than just the ones shown in that post or here (like the god awful blue eyeshadow he did on that red carpet), and there were a lot of times he just did the classic black smudged eyeliner.

and the tumblr post as promised: the makeup styles ryan ross wore in summer 2006 [iii]

ryden:

oh boy, where do we even start with this one. there are actually going to be quite a bit of ryden references in this, but at the end i’ll link a masterpost for further reading (although most of it will be covered here). but to be keep it short and simple, ryden is the ship name for ryan ross and brendon urie. it was arguably one of the biggest ships in early 2000s bandom, as evidenced by the litany of fics written with them as a pairing. this ship (unfortunately) still lives on in people’s hearts today even though ryan and brendon don’t speak anymore.

also, i know it would seem to make more sense if their ship name was ryDON not ryDEN because of how brendon’s name is spelled, but the ship name comes from the mashing of their nicknames ryro and bden (which still doesn’t make any sense but i digress).

unfortunately, all of the ryden content on this iceberg will probably be long because i am a former rydennie (yes u can make fun of me for it go ahead) so i have a lot of knowledge on that ship. but trust me i know that ryden was not real.

“creative differences:”

this entry refers to the july 6th, 2009 split where ryan and jon left the band. the most cited reason for the split was musical differences, as stated in these interviews with brendon and spencer [iv]. however, most people believe the band actually split due to personal reasons since they basically all stopped speaking afterwards, and because of some comments jon made [v]. in fact, one MTV interview specifically singled out ryan and brendon as not getting along, but it has since been deleted [vi].

cheez wiz:

this references a clip from the pretty. odd. short-film called american valley [vii]. the video went viral circa 2015/2016 and became a huge meme in the bandom community, especially in the crankthatfrank yeemo fanbase (that sentence wasn’t in the bible). if you were a panic! fan during that time, you know the cheez wiz jokes were inescapable.

milk fic:

“ryan was kneeling in the bathtub…”

this is also unfortunate. to be blunt, this is a ryden fic in which brendon gives ryan an enema with milk. it catalyzed a trend of other shocking fics within the bandom sphere, such as the comb fic. it’s just cringy. sadly, it became so iconic that brendon knows about it and even made a vine referencing it [viii].

i would link it but i’m not going to because the author, druscila, is a pedophile. so there’s that.

onceler jokes:

i’m going to put a picture of the onceler, who is from the lorax, and ryan side by side. and that should explain this.

now let’s move on to the next tier.

tier 2

references:

[i] https://twitter.com/areyouiooking/status/1366887508441718790?s=46&t=srOJ3YueMMsx9_sm96odQQ, https://twitter.com/checkyesjuul/status/1368794897499615233?s=46&t=srOJ3YueMMsx9_sm96odQQ

[ii] https://prettyoddfever.tumblr.com/post/628882839458512896/panic-at-the-discos-2006-summer-tour-costumes

[iii] https://prettyoddfever.tumblr.com/post/629161631117656064/the-makeup-styles-ryan-ross-wore-in-summer-2006

[iv] https://patd.livejournal.com/2943372.html, https://patd.livejournal.com/2928377.html#cutid1

[v] https://oneweekoneband.tumblr.com/post/131968366779/jon-walker-and-ryan-ross-from-a-2009-interview-in

[vi] https://whisperdlullaby.livejournal.com/9051.html

[vii] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBot_X9pquo

[viii] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyWlisnfrm0

[mercurygray]

Merc all of these prompts are so cute 😭😭 could I have “ice hitting glass” for Cord?

Well, here it is - the teasered bit from yesterday! I took the liberty of combining this prompt with another from @basilone - "Soft humming for Cord & Bucky?"

It's a follow up to this piece.

--

She was glad the officer's club was quiet tonight.

There was something comforting, about being able to hear the ice in your glass, to actually be able to identify the song playing on the radio. There had been too much noise in her life, recently, and the relative quiet was doing her good. If it was quiet, she could hear herself think again, sort through the emotions of the last few days.

She had kissed Bucky Egan, and she didn't have a single idea about where that left the two of them.

Cord supposed she could have said that it had come on suddenly, a momentary lapse of judgement for a handsome face and a willing smile, but it wasn't that, not really. She'd been putting up with his face and his smile for the better part of two months now and maybe that was the real problem - that the way he'd worked his way in had been gradual and sly. His tricks had been seen so often that they were known and expected, and in the face of losing them, and losing him, she'd realized what it would cost her if they were gone.

The handsome face helped, too - that had to be said. And the easy smile - the ease of all of him! A man who did not get caught up in anything about other people's assumptions, who would finally kiss a girl he'd been wanting to kiss for months.

It had been one hell of a kiss.

She kept coming back to it, in the silence of the day - the warmth of his hands on her face, her waist, the way his head had tipped down to hers and her hands had been pinned in between them. With her eyes closed it was easier, somehow, to let him kiss her, pull him closer, fall onto his bed. He was everyone and no one all at once, and it was easy to get lost in the nearness of him until she'd realized that she was nearly half-way out of her uniform and wishing, desperately, to be out of all of it.

He made her feel like she was flying again - like between the two of them they were piloting something, each moving in compliment with the other, known and unknown all at once.

But it was one thing to kiss him like that in his barracks - in his bed - and another to own up to it where other people could see. He'd been ready for that. Was she?

(Who was she joking? He was always ready to kiss someone. What made her any different from a dozen other girls?)

"Lieutenant Callaway, I'm going to need you to dance with me." Cord looked up from her glass, her heart leaping far too high for the voice now saying her name. "You're far too pretty to leave sitting at this bar." Egan was smiling like this dance was a foregone conclusion. He was alone - no crowd of friends with him. That was something, at least. She wasn't sure she wanted an audience for this. And he hadn't used her first name, either. That was something, too.

She tried to think of cool things - ice cubes and snowbanks and polished chrome - and smoothed out her skirt, trying to remember the woman she'd been two days ago, before the mission and the landing and the yelling and the kiss. "I don't have much of a choice here, do I?"

"No," Bucky declared with his most earnest smile. "You do not." He held out a hand and she took it, hesitating for a moment. The club wasn't as empty as she thought, and Bucky was loud. But he was always loud - and she was always saying no.

Could they tell, just by looking, that something had changed? They had danced together before, more than once, but that was before, and this was after. It almost pained her, to let him take her hand in his own, their bodies close together, to have his hand warm and heavy on her shoulder when she wanted it around her waist. She didn't trust herself right now, but what could she do but follow?

She couldn't hear the music - she was too fixed on the sound of his breathing, the off-key way he was humming along, keeping time with the music. It was too good, standing here in his arms. After a while he stopped his humming and spoke. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You just …feel far away, is all."

"I feel far away?" I'm right here and we're dancing.

He made a face. "Physical feedback is very important to flying a plane, Cordelia. A fellow's trained to notice these things. You're tense."

She did not know, in the moment, what she thought of him using her whole name. Well, he's not wrong. "I'm thinking about how everyone's staring at us."

He scoffed, pulled her a little closer. "Let 'em stare. We look good. They're all just jealous I'm dancing with the prettiest girl here."

Am I, Bucky? Because I've heard you say that to a lot of girls. "I just…don't know how I feel about…"

"About dancing with a man you hated two days ago?" He sure knew how to get to the heart of things, but he didn't seem as bothered by it as she. "There's a war on. We're all allowed to be a little stupid. And you're allowed to change your mind about people. About me." He took a breath and considered. "Unless you haven't changed your mind, and yesterday was a …misunderstanding."

The way her heart soared and fell on the way he said misunderstanding was hard to quantify. "No, it…it wasn't…that." Should she tell him? Would he understand? "You - Laura told you, about Jimmy. And I told you he wasn't my boyfriend, but I - " She hadn't said this part aloud, to anyone, and once it was out, in the air, it could not be taken back. "I wanted him to be. He'd always say he was dancing with the prettiest girl, too. But… never did anything after that. And I…I let myself…get caught up in it." I let myself think that he meant things that he didn't, and it hurt just that much more when he was dead, knowing that I cared so much more than he did.

He thought about this for a moment. "You're afraid I'm not serious."

"You're not exactly known for it, Bucky." Well, there it is. I don't like being a joke. And I was, to his friends - helping his mother with his things when I wasn't anything to him.

"Were you this cautious when you were flying?" There was an edge to his voice that she'd never heard before, an accusatory tone.

"No, I wasn't." And maybe I'm ashamed of that, a little. "But things changed." I'm not that girl now. I can't care that way again if I'm not going to get anything back and I'm still going to lose you in the end.

He took a breath and nodded to himself, working through all of this. "I got here in May, and one of the first people I met was this crackerjack brunette who was supposed to be in charge of our control tower. She was smart, and sharp, and I would have started something sooner but she didn't want to have a thing to do with me. And I didn't much like that, but it made me - made me see a lot of things about her that I might have missed, if she'd said yes right away." His eyes locked with hers. "When you say serious is that what you mean?"

The music had ended and they had stopped dancing, the announcer warbling something that she couldn't really hear. Tell me you're not going to drop me tomorrow, Bucky. Tell me you're not going to leave.

His eyes were dark and full of promises. "We're pilots, Cord. We've only got today to give. But I'll get you tomorrow, if I've got it. How much more serious can I get?"

She kissed him for that - for calling her a pilot. His arms instinctively wrapped tighter around her body, pulling her closer, and she felt herself melt into him, lose where he stopped and she began.

After what seemed like forever they broke apart, Bucky's broad grin unmistakable. "You want to finish this up somewhere more private, Lieutenant, or should we keep scandalizing the neighbors?" She had to hit him for that, but she could not stop smiling, even if she'd wanted to. "I'll punch the next guy who jokes," he whispered, glancing around the room, and she felt her heart thrill for it.

"Bucky."

But even when she was warning him, he was still grinning. "That's my girl."

See, he meant that, her heart assured her. His girl. And for the moment, there was quiet in that, too.

[found-family-tournament]

Found Family Tournament Round 1 Part 10 Group 50

Propaganda and further pictures under the cut

The Bad Kids: Riz "The Ball" Gukgak, Adaine Abernant, Fabian Aramaris Seacaster, Gorgug Thistlespring, Figueroth "Fig" Faeth, Kristen Applebees (& Ragh Barkrock)

Drawtectives: Gyorik "York" Rogdul, Grendan "Grandma" Highforge, Rosé, Jancy True, Eugene Finch

Submissions are still open!

The Bad Kids:

before i start the pictures below are by isawiitch (https://www.tumblr.com/isawiitch), victor rosas (https://twitter.com/SirVictorThe2nd), and m0nomercy (https://www.tumblr.com/m0nomercy) respectively check them out they're very cool and also that middle guy did the official art for fantasy high its very cool

Mods note: said middle picture is a .webp. And I sadly can't add those. But the others are below

anyways all of these dumb teens are just god they complete each other they're the most important people in the world to each other like fabian and gorgug meeting with a punch to the stomach and going on to share a hug in an evil forest and "DO YOU WANT ME TO BITE IT OUT FOR YOU" "the ball, wait" -riz and fabian and kristen's really bad inspiring speech (they're gonna get inspiring real soon) but they are inspiring because they're from the best and sweetest friend in the whole world and gorgug getting razzed a little for thinking random people are his dad and the sheer joy everyone felt for him when he met his real parents and RIZ THE BALL GUKGAK AND FABIAN SEACASTER THE DUO OF ALL TIME and adaine learning to be a normal teen and fig swearing she's not an open person when she pours her heart out to her friends every chance she gets and riz and adaine being the only two non-horny members of the team and bonding over that and being smart but terrible in social interactions together and "its called being gay, when you're here you're family" -kristen applebees, 2019 and fig starting a band with gorgug, one of the more socially awkward members of the party and "what would riz do" "you bite down hard on a piece of glass" and adaine's actual worst fear being what she would become after her friends passed and the KILL YOUR DAD chant and its gorgug keep going and all of them feeling each others' overcoming of fear in the forest of the nightmare king no matter how far apart they are and riz shooting off an incel's fingers for being weird about adaine (there was other stuff going on but you can't convince me that it wasn't at least partially because of that) and the gang not really letting gorgug and kristen forget that one time they died (they got better and were psychologically okay with it after a bit so this was lighthearted jabs and not straight-up reminding them of a big traumatic moment) and "my friends were warmer to me on the first day that we met than you were to me in my whole life" -adaine abernant, 2020

AND that doesn't even include all the crazy stuff with bad kids-adjacent found family members like gilear faeth getting his life back together thanks to these teens and jawbone o'shaughnessy being the dad of all time to the point where he actually adopts adaine at the end of sophomore year and aelwyn abernant holy shit (she's harder to justify here because her main important interactions are with her sister, unlike gilear who is technically fig's stepdad but is a core part of the found family in all directions) aelwyn abernant is trying so desperately hard to be better and ayda aguefort and adaine swapping homemade spells named after each other (adaine kills her dad with hers its a good time) and ragh barkrock getting over his internalized homophobia

SO IN CONCLUSION these guys have changed each other so much and every single combination of them, be it a duo or a trio or whatever has a distinct dynamic thats so so important to me. they're all family to each other, some of them more than even their real families. they are the guys of all time and my blorbos even and are a wicked good found family

Sometimes a family is the kids who all got detention together on the first day of school at adventuring academy.

And sometimes that family is:

A Half-elf-Half-Pirate rich boy who killed toxic masculinity by learning how to dance, and mercy-killed his father by stabbing him with a sword.

"The Greatest Wizard of this Age" (actually a Barbarian who took a level in artificer to boost his cellphone-reception to call and apologize to his satyr girlfriend) Half-Orc drummer who was adopted by Gnomes;

A bisexual Punk-rocker Tiefling who thought she was a wood-elf until her horns came-in & caused her and her adoptive father to discover that her biological father is actually an Archdevil;

The Elven Oracle (later just "The Oracle"/"Everybody's Oracle") who was adopted by the school's Werewolf Guidance Councilor after her evil parents disowned her (she later punched her evil bio-dad to death in a single round of combat, despite being a magic caster);

An aro-ace (un)licensed Private Investigator Goblin who carries a briefcase and ate the face of the dragon that ate his father;

And a lesbian ex-fundie human who met the corn-god her family worships, found out he sucks & left the church and her family, CREATED HER OWN GOD (of Buzzfeed listical symbols, known first as "YES!" then later "YES?"), only to then abandon that god to become the Saint of the long forgotten Goddex/Goddess of Mystery, Night and Magic.

(Optionally, add in the Half-Orc repressed-gay bully they befriended and helped come out)

And sometimes, that found family becomes a literal family, because over the course of the series:

Fig's mom starts dating Adaine's adoptive dad,

Fig's adoptive dad gets engaged to Fabian's mom,

Fig's biological dad starts dating Riz's mom,

Kirsten starts dating the niece of Adaine's adoptive dad/Fig's mom' boyfriend.

(Gorgug is the only one who still isn't related to the others, but he did find his biological parents. And although he still lives with his adoptive parents, he is now in the famous band "Fig and the Cig Figs" along-side his bio-parents, Fig, and Fig's bio-dad)

Currently, Fig, Adaine, Kirsten, Fig's mom, Adaine's adopted dad, Kirsten's GF, Adaine's biological older sister, Adaine's sister's ghost fiancé, Ragh, Ragh's mom, and Fig's Half-Phoenix librarian/pirate GF all live in one giant haunted old Victorian-style Manor.

Drawtectives:

They are so silly and cute <3 Three strangers bond over solving a murder mystery as interns to a tired detective/mom figure. In s2 they pick up an amnesiac guy and adopt him as a son (despite one of them being younger than him). Everyone pls watch Drawtectives it's so fun and there's lots of wacky drawing shenanigans involved

they are SILLY they are BESTIES they are in a POLYCULE they LOVE EACHOTHER 🥺🥺 (eugene is their son who is also their age and jancy is their mom. dw its not weird) (art included is all by karina @dilfosaur of drawfee)